B    3   Sbl 


TAQUISARA 


TAQTJISARA 


BY  F.  MARION  CRAWFORD 


MACMILLAN    AND    CO.,  LIMITED 

NEW    YORK  I    THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 
190  I 

A II  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT 

1895 

BY 

F.  MARION   CRAWFORD 

First  Edition  (2  I'ols.)  1896.     Second  Edition  (i  Vol.)  June  1897 
Reprinted  November  1897,  1900.     Re-issue  1901 


T37 


TAQUISARA 


CHAPTER  I 

"WHERE  shall  I  sign  my  name?" 

Veronica  Serra's  thin,  dark  fingers  rolled  the  old  silver  pen 
holder  nervously  as  she  sat  at  one  end  of  the  long  library  table, 
looking  up  at  the  short,  stout  man  who  stood  beside  her. 

"  Here,  if  you  please,  Excellency,"  answered  Lamberto 
Squarci,  with  an  affable  smile. 

His  fingers  were  dark,  too,  but  not  thin,  and  they  were 
smooth  and  dingy  and  very  pointed,  a  fact  which  the  young 
princess  noticed  with  dislike,  as  he  indicated  the  spot  on  the 
broad  sheet  of  rough,  hand-made  paper,  where  he  wished 
her  to  sign.  A  thrill  of  repulsion  that  was  strong  enough  to 
be  painful  ran  through  her,  and  she  rolled  the  penholder  still 
more  quickly  and  nervously,  so  that  she  almost  dropped  it, 
and  a  little  blot  of  ink  fell  upon  the  sheet  before  she  had  begun 
to  write. 

"  Oh  !  It  is  of  no  importance  ! "  said  the  Neapolitan  notary, 
in  a  reassuring  tone.  "  A  little  ink  more  or  less  ! " 

He  had  some  pink  blotting-paper  ready,  and  was  already 
applying  a  corner  of  it  to  the  ink-spot,  with  the  neat  skill  of  a 
professional  scribe. 

"  I  will  erase  it  when  it  is  dry,"  he  said.  "  You  will  not  even 
see  it.  Now,  if  your  Excellency  will  sign — that  will  make  the 
will  valid." 

Three  other  persons  stood  around  Donna  Veronica  as  she 
set  the  point  of  her  pen  to  the  paper,  and  two  of  them  watched 
the  characters  she  traced,  with  eager,  unwinking  eyes.  The 
third  was  a  very  insignificant  personage  just  then,  being  but  the 
notary's  clerk;  but  his  signature  was  needed  as  a  witness  to 
<&  A 


2  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

the  will,  and  he  patiently  waited  for  his  turn.  The  other  two 
were  husband  and  wife,  Gregorio  and  Matilde,  Count  and 
Countess  Macomer;  and  the  countess  was  the  young  girl's 
aunt,  being  the  only  sister  of  Don  Tommaso  Serra,  Prince  of 
Acireale,  Veronica's  dead  father.  She  looked  on,  with  an  eager, 
pleased  expression,  standing  upright  and  bending  her  head  in 
order  to  see  the  point  of  the  pen  as  it  moved  over  the  rough 
paper.  Her  hands  were  folded  before  her,  but  the  uppermost 
one  twitched  and  moved  once  or  twice,  as  though  it  would  go 
out  to  get  possession  of  the  precious  document  which  left  her 
all  the  heiress's  great  possessions  in  case  of  Donna  Veronica's 
death.  It  was  a  bit  of  paper  well  worth  having. 

The  girl  rose,  slight  and  graceful,  when  she  had  written  her 
name,  and  the  finely  chiselled  lips  had  an  upward  curve  of 
young  scorn,  as  she  turned  from  the  table,  while  the  notary  and 
his  clerk  proceeded  to  witness  the  will.  Immediately,  the 
countess  smiled,  very  brightly,  showing  beautiful  teeth  between 
smooth  red  lips,  and  her  strong  arms  went  round  her  young 
niece.  She  was  a  woman  at  least  forty  years  of  age,  but  still 
handsome. 

"  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart ! "  she  cried.  "  It  is  a  proof 
of  affection  which  I  shall  never  forget !  You  will  live  a  hundred 
years — a  thousand,  if  God  will  it !  But  the  mere  wish  to  leave 
me  your  fortune  is  a  token  of  love  and  esteem  which  I  shall 
know  how  to  value." 

Donna  Veronica  kissed  her  aunt's  fresh  cheek  coldly,  and 
drew  back  as  soon  as  she  could. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  are  pleased,"  she  answered  in  a  cool 
and  colourless  voice. 

She  felt  that  she  had  said  enough,  and,  so  far  as  she  expected 
any  thanks,  her  aunt  had  said  too  much.  She  had  made  the 
will  and  had  signed  it,  for  the  sake  of  peace,  and  she  asked 
nothing  but  peace  in  return.  Ever  since  she  had  left  the  con 
vent  in  which  she  had  been  educated  and  had  come  to  live  with 
her  aunt,  the  question  of  this  will  had  arisen  at  least  once  every 
day,  and  she  knew  by  heart  every  argument  which  had  been 
invented  to  induce  her  to  make  it.  The  principal  one  had 
always  been  the  same.  She  had  been  told  that  if,  in  the  in 
scrutable  ways  of  Providence,  she  should  chance  to  die  young, 
unmarried  and  childless,  the  whole  of  the  great  Acireale  property 
would  go  to  relations  whom  she  had  never  seen  and  of  whom 
she  scarcely  knew  the  names.  This,  the  Countess  Macomer 


I  TAQUISARA  3 

had  insisted,  would  be  a  terrible  misfortune,  and  as  human  life 
was  uncertain,  even  when  one  was  very  young,  it  was  the  duty 
of  Veronica  to  provide  against  it,  by  leaving  everything  to  the 
one  remaining  member  of  the  Serra  family  who,  with  herself, 
represented  the  direct  line,  who  had  taken  a  mother's  place 
and  duties  in  bringing  up  the  orphan  girl,  and  who  had  been 
ready  to  sacrifice  every  personal  consideration  for  the  sake  of 
the  child's  welfare. 

Veronica  did  not  see  clearly  that  the  Countess  Macomer  had 
ever  really  sacrificed  anything  at  all  in  the  execution  of  her 
trust  as  guardian,  any  more  than  the  count  himself,  who,  with 
Cardinal  Campodonico,  was  a  joint  trustee,  had  ever  been  put  to 
any  inconvenience,  beyond  that  of  being  the  uncle  by  marriage  of 
one  of  the  richest  heiresses  in  Italy.  It  was  natural  that  when 
she  had  signed  the  will  at  last,  she  should  receive  her  aunt's 
effusive  thanks  rather  coldly,  and  that  she  should  show  very 
little  enthusiasm  when  her  uncle  kissed  her  forehead  and  ex 
pressed  his  appreciation  of  her  loving  intention.  The  plain 
truth  was  that  if  she  had  refused  any  longer  to  sign  the  will,  the 
two  would  have  made  her  life  even  more  unbearable  than  it 
was  already. 

She  knew  that  there  was  no  reason  why  her  life  should  be 
made  hard  to  bear.  She  was  not  only  rich,  and  a  princess  in 
her  own  right.  She  was  young  and,  if  not  pretty,  at  least  fairly 
well  endowed  with  those  gifts  which  attract  and  please,  and 
bring  their  possessor  the  daily  little  satisfactions  that  make 
something  very  like  happiness,  before  passion  throws  its  load 
into  the  scales  of  life  on  the  right  side  or  the  wrong.  She  knew 
that,  at  her  age,  she  might  have  been  married  already,  and  she 
wondered  that  her  aunt  should  not  have  proposed  to  marry  her 
before  now.  Yet  in  this  she  was  not  displeased,  for  her  best 
friend,  Bianca  Campodonico,  had  been  married  two  years 
already  to  Corleone,  of  evil  fame,  and  was  desperately  unhappy. 
Veronica  dreaded  a  like  fate,  and  was  in  no  haste  to  find  a 
husband.  The  countess  told  her  always  that  she  should  be 
free  to  choose  one  for  herself  within  reasonable  limits  of  age, 
name,  and  fortune.  Such  an  heiress,  with  such  a  fortune,  said 
Matilde  Macomer,  could  marry  whom  she  pleased.  But  so  far 
as  Veronica  had  been  allowed  to  see  the  world,  the  choice 
seemed  anything  but  large. 

The  count  and  countess  had  always  been  very  careful  in  the 
selection  of  their  intimate  associates — they  could  hardly  be  said 


4  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

to  have  any  intimate  friends.  Since  Veronica  had  come  to 
them  from  the  convent  in  Rome,  where  she  had  been  educated 
according  to  her  dead  father's  desire,  they  had  been  doubly 
cautious  and  trebly  particular  as  to  the  persons  they  chose  to 
receive.  Their  responsibility,  they  said  openly,  was  very  great. 
The  child's  happiness  was  wholly  in  their  hands.  They  would 
be  held  accountable  if  she  should  form  an  unfortunate  attach 
ment  for  some  ineligible  young  man  who  might  chance  to  dine 
at  their  table.  The  responsibility,  they  repeated  with  emphasis, 
was  truly  enormous.  It  was  also  an  unfortunate  fact  that  in 
their  Neapolitan  society  there  were  many  young  men,  princes 
and  dukes  by  the  score,  who  had  nothing  but  their  names  and 
titles  to  recommend  them,  and  who  would  have  found  it  very 
hard  to  keep  body  and  title  together,  so  to  say,  if  gambling 
had  suddenly  been  abolished,  or  had  gone  out  of  fashion 
unexpectedly. 

Then,  too,  the  Macomer  couple  had  always  led  a  retired  life 
and  had  kept  aloof  from  the  very  gay  portion  of  society.  They 
lived  well,  according  to  their  station,  and  so  far  as  any  one 
could  see ;  but  it  had  always  been  said  that  Gregorio  Macomer 
was  miserly.  At  the  same  time  it  suited  his  wife,  for  reasons 
of  her  own,  not  to  be  conspicuous  in  the  world,  and  she  en 
couraged  him  to  lead  a  quiet  existence,  spending  half  the  year 
in  the  country,  and  receiving  very  few  people  when  in  Naples 
during  the  winter  and  spring.  Gregorio  had  one  brother,  Bosio, 
considerably  younger  than  himself  and  very  different  in  char 
acter,  who  was  not  married  and  who  lived  at  the  Palazzo 
Macomer,  on  excellent  terms  both  with  Gregorio  and  the 
countess,  as  well  as  with  Veronica  herself.  The  young  girl  was 
inclined  to  like  him,  though  she  felt  dimly  that  she  could  never 
understand  him  as  she  believed  that  she  understood  her  aunt 
and  uncle.  He  was,  indeed,  almost  the  only  man,  excepting 
her  uncle,  whom  she  could  be  said  to  know  tolerably  well.  He 
was  not  present  on  that  afternoon  when  she  signed  the  will,  but 
his  absence  did  not  surprise  her,  for  he  had  always  abstained 
from  any  remarks  about  her  property  or  his  brother's  and  sister- 
in-law's  guardianship,  in  such  a  marked  way  as  to  make  her 
understand  that  he  really  wished  to  know  nothing  about  the 
management  or  disposal  of  her  fortune. 

She  liked  him  for  several  reasons, — for  his  non-interference 
in  discussions  about  her  affairs,  for  a  certain  quiet  considera 
tion,  just  a  shade  more  friendly  than  deference,  which  he 


I  TAQUISARA  5 

showed  for  her  slightest  wishes,  and  chiefly,  perhaps,  for  his 
conversation  and  perfectly  even  temper. 

Her  uncle  Macomer  was  not  always  good-tempered  and  he 
was  never  considerate.  He  was  a  stiff  man,  of  impenetrable 
face,  much  older  than  his  wife,  cold  when  he  was  pleased,  and 
harsh  as  rough  ice  when  he  was  annoyed ;  a  tall,  bony  man, 
with  flattened  lips,  from  which  the  grey  moustaches  and  the 
beard  were  brushed  smoothly  away  in  all  directions.  He  had 
very  small  eyes — a  witty  enemy  of  his  said  they  were  so  small 
that  one  could  not  find  them  in  his  face,  and  those  who  knew 
him  laughed  at  the  jest,  for  they  always  seemed  hard  to  find 
when  one  wished  to  meet  them.  His  shoulders  were  unusually 
high  and  narrow,  but  he  did  not  stoop.  On  the  contrary,  he 
habitually  threw  back  his  head,  with  a  certain  coldly  aggressive 
stiffness,  so  that  he  easily  looked  above  the  person  with  whom 
he  was  talking.  Though  he  had  never  been  given  to  any  sort 
of  bodily  exercise,  his  hands  were  naturally  horny,  and  they 
were  almost  always  cold.  For  the  rest,  he  was  careful  of  his 
appearance  and  scrupulous  in  matters  of  dress,  like  many  of 
his  fellow-countrymen.  In  his  household  he  insisted  upon  a 
neatness  as  fastidious  as  his  own,  and  nothing  could  have  in 
duced  him  to  employ  a  Neapolitan  servant.  His  family  colours 
were  green  and  black,  and  the  green  of  his  servants'  liveries 
was  of  the  very  darkest  that  could  be  had. 

He  imposed  his  taste  upon  his  household,  and  gave  it  a 
certain  marked  respectability  which  betrayed  no  information 
about  his  fortune.  To  all  appearances  he  was  not  poor ;  but 
it  would  have  been  impossible  to  say  with  certainty  whether  he 
were  rich  or  only  in  moderate  circumstances.  He  was  un 
doubtedly  more  careful  than  ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  of 
his  fellow-citizens,  in  getting  the  value  of  what  he  spent,  to  the 
uttermost  splitting  of  farthings ;  and  when  he  spoke  of  money 
there  was  a  certain  cruel  hardening  of  the  hard  lines  in  his  face, 
which  Veronica  never  failed  to  notice  with  dislike.  She  won 
dered  how  her  aunt  could  have  led  an  apparently  tranquil  life 
with  such  a  man  during  more  than  twenty  years. 

Doubtless,  she  thought,  Bosio's  presence  acted  as  a  palliative 
in  the  somewhat  grim  atmosphere  of  the  Palazzo  Macomer. 
He  was  utterly  different  from  his  brother.  In  the  first  place, 
he  was  gentle  and  kind  in  speech  and  manner,  though  apparently 
rather  sad  than  gay.  He  was  different  in  face,  in  figure,  in 
voice,  in  carriage — having  quiet  brown  eyes,  and  brown  hair 


6  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

only  streaked  with  grey,  with  a  full,  silky  beard ;  a  clear  pale 
complexion ;  in  frame  shorter  than  Gregorio,  with  smaller 
bones,  slightly  inclined  to  stoutness,  but  rather  graceful  than 
stiff ;  small  feet  and  well-shaped  hands  of  pleasant  texture ;  a 
clear,  low  voice  that  never  jarred  upon  the  ear,  and  a  kindly, 
half-sad  laugh  in  which  there  was  a  singular  refinement,  of  the 
sort  which  shows  itself  more  in  laughter  than  in  speech. 
Laughter  is,  indeed,  a  terrible  betrayer  of  the  character,  and  a 
surer  guide  in  judgment  than  most  people  know.  For  men  learn 
to  use  their  voices  skilfully  and  to  govern  their  tones  as  well 
as  their  words ;  but,  beyond  not  laughing  too  loud  for  ordinary 
decency  of  behaviour,  there  are  few  people  who  care,  or  realize, 
how  they  laugh;  and  those  who  do,  and  who,  being  aware 
that  there  is  room  for  improvement,  endeavour  to  improve, 
very  generally  produce  either  a  semi-musical  noise,  which  is 
false  and  affected,  or  a  perfectly  inane  cachinnation  which  has 
nothing  human  in  it  at  all. 

Bosio  Macomer  was  a  refined  man,  not  only  by  education 
and  outward  contact  with  the  refinements  he  sought  in  others, 
but  within  himself  and  by  predisposition  of  nature.  He  read 
much,  and  found  beauties  in  books  which  his  friends  thought 
dull,  but  which  appealed  tenderly  to  his  innate  love  of  tender 
ness.  He  had  probably  lost  many  illusions,  but  the  sweetest 
of  them  all  was  still  fresh  in  him,  for  he  loved  nature  un 
affectedly.  In  an  unobtrusive  way  he  was  something  of  an 
artist,  and  was  fond  of  going  out  by  himself,  when  in  the 
country,  to  sketch  and  dream  all  day.  Veronica  did  not  under 
stand  how  with  such  tastes  he  could  bear  the  life  in  the  Palazzo 
Macomer,  for  months  at  a  time.  He  was  free  to  go  and  come 
as  he  pleased,  and  since  he  preferred  the  country,  she  wondered 
why  he  did  not  live  out  of  town  altogether.  His  existence  was 
the  more  incomprehensible  to  her,  as  he  rarely  lost  an  oppor 
tunity  of  finding  fault  with  Naples  as  a  city,  and  with  the 
Neapolitans  as  human  beings.  Sometimes  he  did  not  leave  the 
house  for  many  days,  as  he  frankly  admitted,  preferring  the 
little  apartment  in  the  upper  story  of  the  house,  where  he  lived 
independently,  with  one  old  servant,  amongst  his  books  and  his 
pictures,  appearing  downstairs  only  at  dinner,  and  not  always 
then.  His  place  was  always  ready  for  him,  but  no  one  ever 
remarked  his  absence,  nor  inquired  where  he  might  be  when  he 
chose  to  stay  away. 

He  was  on  excellent  terms  with  every  one.     The  servants 


I  TAQUISARA  7 

adored  him,  while  they  feared  his  brother  and  disliked  the 
countess ;  when  he  appeared  he  never  failed  to  kiss  the 
countess's  hand,  and  to  exchange  a  friendly  word  or  two  with 
Gregorio ;  but  as  for  the  latter,  Bosio  made  no  secret  of  the 
fact  that  he  preferred  the  society  of  the  ladies  of  the  household 
to  that  of  the  count,  with  whom  he  had  little  in  common.  He 
certainly  admired  his  sister-in-law,  and  more  than  once  frankly 
confessed  to  Veronica  that  in  his  opinion  Matilde  Macomer 
was  still  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world.  Yet  Vero 
nica  had  observed  that  he  was  critical  of  looks  in  other  women, 
and  she  thought  his  criticisms  generally  just  and  in  good  taste. 
For  her  part,  however,  if  he  chose  to  consider  her  middle-aged 
aunt  lovely,  Veronica  would  not  contradict  him,  for  she  was 
cautious  in  a  certain  degree,  and  in  spite  of  herself  she  dis 
trusted  her  surroundings. 

There  were  times  when  the  Countess  Macomer  inspired  her 
with  confidence.  Those  very  beautiful  dark  eyes  of  hers  had 
but  one  defect,  namely,  that  they  were  quite  too  near  together ; 
but  they  were  still  the  best  features  in  the  elder  woman's  face, 
and  when  Veronica  looked  at  them  from  such  an  angle  as  not 
to  notice  their  relative  position,  she  almost  believed  that  she 
could  trust  them.  But  she  never  liked  the  smooth  red  lips, 
nor  the  over-pointed  nose,  which  had  something  of  the  falcon's 
keenness  without  its  nobility.  The  thick  and  waving  brown 
hair  grew  almost  too  low  on  the  white  forehead,  and,  whether 
by  art  or  nature,  the  eyebrows  were  too  broad  and  too  dark  for 
the  face,  though  they  were  so  well  placed  as  to  greatly  improve 
the  defect  of  the  close-set  eyes.  There  was  a  marvellous 
genuine  freshness  of  colour  in  the  clear  complexion,  and  the 
woman  carried  her  head  well  upon  a  really  magnificent  neck. 
She  was  strong  and  vital  and  healthy,  and  her  personality  was 
as  distinctly  dominating  as  her  physical  self.  Yet  she  was 
generally  very  careful  not  to  displease  her  husband,  even  when 
he  was  capricious,  and  Veronica  was  sometimes  surprised  by 
the  apparent  weakness  with  which  she  yielded  to  him  in  matters 
about  which  she  had  as  good  a  right  as  he  to  an  opinion  and  a 
decision.  The  girl  supposed  that  her  aunt  was  not  so  strong 
as  she  seemed  to  be,  when  actually  brought  face  to  face  with 
the  rough  ice  of  Gregorio  Macomer's  character. 

Veronica  made  her  observations  discreetly  and  kept  them  to 
herself,  as  was  not  only  becoming  but  wise.  At  first  the 
change  from  the  semi-cloistered  existence  of  the  convent  in 


8  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Rome  to  the  life  at  the  Palazzo  Macomer  had  dazzled  the  girl 
and  had  confused  her  ideas.  But  with  the  natural  desire  of 
the  very  young  to  seem  experienced,  she  had  begun  by  mani 
festing  no  surprise  at  anything  she  saw ;  and  she  had  soon 
discovered  that,  although  she  was  supposed  to  be  living  in  the 
society  of  the  most  idle  and  pleasure-loving  city  in  the  world, 
her  surroundings  were  in  reality  neither  gay  nor  dazzling,  but 
decidedly  monotonous  and  dull.  She  had  dim,  childish 
memories  of  magnificent  things  in  her  father's  house,  though 
the  main  impression  was  that  of  his  death,  following  closely,  as 
she  had  been  told,  upon  her  mother's.  Of  the  latter,  she 
could  remember  nothing.  In  dreams  she  saw  beautiful  things, 
and  brilliant  light  and  splendid  pictures  and  enchanted  gardens, 
and  when  she  awoke  she  felt  that  the  dreams  had  been 
recollections  of  what  she  had  seen,  and  of  what  still  belonged 
to  her.  But  she  sought  the  reality  in  vain.  The  grand  old 
palace  in  the  Toledo  was  hers,  she  was  told,  but  it  was  let 
for  a  term  of  years  to  the  municipality  and  was  filled  with 
public  offices ;  the  marble  staircases  were  black  and  dingy  with 
the  passing  of  many  feet  that  tracked  in  the  mud  in  winter 
and  the  filthy  dust  of  Naples  in  summer.  Dark,  poor  faces 
and  ill-clad  forms  moved  through  the  halls,  and  horrible  voices 
echoed  perpetually  in  the  corridors,  where  those  who  waited 
discussed  taxes,  and  wrangled,  and  cursed  those  in  power,  and 
cheated  one  another,  and  picked  a  pocket  now  and  then,  and 
spat  upon  the  marble  pavement  whereon  royal  and  lordly  feet 
had  so  often  trod  in  days  gone  by.  It  had  all  become  a  great 
nest  of  dirt  and  stealing  and  busy  chicanery,  where  dingy, 
hawk-eyed  men  with  sodden  white  faces  and  disgusting  hands 
lay  in  wait  for  the  unwary  who  had  business  with  the  city 
government,  to  rob  them  on  pretence  of  facilitating  their 
affairs,  to  cringe  for  a  little  coin  fiung  them  in  scorn  sometimes 
by  one  who  had  grown  rich  in  greater  robbery  than  they  could 
practise — sometimes,  too,  springing  aside  to  escape  a  kick  or  a 
blow  as  ill-tempered  success  went  swinging  by,  high-handed 
and  vulgarly  cruel,  a  few  degrees  less  filthy  and  ten  thousand 
times  more  repulsive. 

Once,  Veronica  had  insisted  upon  going  through  the  palace. 
She  would  never  enter  it  again,  and  after  that  day,  when  she 
passed  it,  she  turned  her  face  from  it  and  looked  away. 
Vaguely,  she  wondered  whether  they  were  not  deceiving  her 
and  whether  it  were  really  the  home  she  dimly  remembered. 


I  TAQUISARA  9 

There  had  been  splendid  things  in  it,  then — she  would  not  ask 
what  had  become  of  them,  but  without  asking,  she  was  told 
that  they  had  been  wisely  disposed  of,  and  that  instead  of 
paying  people  for  keeping  an  uninhabited  palace  in  order,  she 
was  receiving  an  enormous  rent  for  it  from  the  city. 

Then  she  had  wished  to  see  the  lovely  villa  that  came  back  in 
the  pictures  of  her  dreams,  and  she  had  been  driven  out  into 
the  country  according  to  her  desire.  From  a  distance,  as  the 
carriage  approached  it,  she  recognized  the  lordly  poplars,  and 
far  at  the  end  of  the  avenue  the  elaborately  stuccoed  front  and 
cornices  of  the  old-fashioned  'barocco'  building.  But  the 
gardens  were  gone.  Files  of  neatly  trimmed  vines,  trained 
upon  poles  stuck  in  deep  furrows,  stretched  away  from  the 
avenue  on  either  side.  The  flower  garden  was  a  vegetable 
garden  now,  and  the  artichokes  and  the  cabbages  and  the  broc 
coli  were  planted  with  mathematical  regularity  up  to  the  very 
walls.  There  were  hens  and  chickens  on  the  steps  and  running 
in  and  out  of  the  open  door,  and  from  a  near  sty  the  grunt  of 
many  pigs  reached  her  ears.  A  pale,  earthy-skinned  peasant, 
scantily  clad  in  dusty  canvas,  grinned  sadly  and  kissed  the  hem 
of  her  skirt,  calling  her  '  Excellency '  and  beginning  at  once  to 
beg  for  reduction  of  rent.  A  field-worn  woman,  filthy  and  dis 
hevelled,  drove  back  half  a  dozen  nearly  naked  children  whose 
little  legs  were  crusted  with  dry  mud,  and  whose  faces  had  not 
been  washed  for  a  long  time. 

And  within,  there  was  no  furniture.  In  the  rooms  upstairs 
were  stores  of  grain  and  potatoes,  and  red  peppers  and  grapes 
hanging  on  strings.  The  cracked  mirrors,  built  into  the  gilded 
stucco,  were  coated  with  heavy  unctuous  dust,  and  the  fine  old 
painted  tiles  on  the  floor  were  loose  and  broken  in  places.  In 
the  ceiling  certain  pink  and  well-fed  cherubs  still  supported  un 
natural  thunder-clouds  through  which  Juno  forever  drove  her 
gold-wheeled  car  and  team  of  patient  peacocks,  smiling  high 
and  goddess-like  at  the  squalor  beneath.  Still  Diana  bent  over 
Endymion  cruelly  foreshortened  in  his  sleep,  beyond  the  possi 
bility  of  a  waking  return  to  human  proportions.  Mars  frowned, 
Jove  threatened,  Venus  rose  glowing  from  the  sea ;  and  below, 
the  unctuous  black  dust  settled  and  thickened  on  everything 
except  the  cracked  floors  piled  with  maize  and  beans  and 
lupins,  and  rubbed  bright  between  the  heaps  by  the  peasants' 
naked  feet. 

Veronica  turned  her  back  upon  the  villa,  as  she  had  turned 


io  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

from  the  great  palace  in  the  Toledo.  They  whispered  to  her 
that  the  peasant's  rent  must  not  be  reduced,  for  he  was  well 
able  to  pay,  and  they  pointed  to  the  closely  planted  vines  and 
vegetables  and  olives  that  stretched  far  away  to  right  and  left, 
where  she  remembered  in  her  dreams  of  far  childhood  that 
there  had  been  lawns  and  walks  and  flowers.  The  man,  she  was 
told,  was  not  the  only  peasant  on  the  place.  There  were  other 
houses  now,  and  huts  that  could  shelter  a  family,  and  there 
was  land,  land,  always  more  land,  as  far  as  she  could  see,  all  as 
closely  and  neatly  and  regularly  planted  with  vegetables  and 
grain,  vines  and  olives ;  and  it  was  all  hers,  and  yielded  enor 
mous  rents  which  were  wisely  invested.  She  was  very  rich 
indeed,  but  to  her  it  all  seemed  horribly  sordid  and  grinding 
and  mean — and  the  peasants  looked  prematurely  old,  labour- 
worn,  filthy,  wretchedly  poor.  If  she  had  even  had  any  satis 
faction  from  so  much  wealth,  it  might  have  seemed  different. 
She  said  so,  in  her  heart.  She  was  accustomed  to  tell  her 
confessor  that  she  was  proud  and  uncharitable  and  unfeeling — 
not  finding  any  real  misdeeds  to  confess.  She  was  willing  to 
believe  that  she  was  all  that  and  much  more.  If  she  had  been 
living  in  the  whirling,  golden  pleasure-storm  of  an  utterly 
thoughtless  world,  she  believed  herself  bad  enough  to  have 
shut  her  memory's  eyes  to  the  haggard  peasant-mother  of  the 
dirty  half-clad  children — to  all  the  hundreds  of  them  who 
doubtless  lived  just  like  the  one  she  had  seen,  all  upon  her 
lands ;  she  could  have  forgotten  the  busy-thieving,  sodden- 
faced  crowd  that  thronged  the  chambers  wherein  her  fathers 
had  been  born  and  had  feasted  kings  and  had  died — the  very 
room  where  her  own  father  had  lain  dead.  She  could  have 
shut  it  all  out,  she  thought,  if  she  had  held  in  her  hands  the 
gold  that  all  this  brought,  to  scatter  it  at  her  will ;  for  she  was 
sure  that  she  had  not  a  better  heart  than  other  girls  of  her  age. 
But  she  had  never  seen  it.  The  reality  of  her  own  life  was  too 
weak  and  colourless,  by  contrast,  to  make  the  name  of  fortune 
an  excuse  for  the  sordid  facts  of  meanness.  There  was  no 
splendour  about  her,  no  wild  gaiety,  none  of  the  glorious  ex 
travagance  of  conscious  young  wealth,  and  there  was  very  little 
amusement  to  divert  her  thoughts.  The  people  she  would 
have  liked  to  know  were  kept  at  a  distance  from  her.  She  was 
advised  not  to  buy  the  things  which  attracted  her  eyes,  and  was 
told  that  they  were  not  so  good  as  they  looked,  and  that  on  the 
whole  it  was  better  to  keep  money  than  to  spend  it — but  that, 


I  TAQUISARA  n 

of  course,  she  might  do  as  she  pleased,  and  that  when  she 
wanted  money  her  uncle  Macomer  would  give  it  to  her. 

It  all  passed  through  his  hands,  and  he  managed  everything, 
with  the  assistance  of  Lamberto  Squarci  the  notary  and  of 
other  men  of  business — mostly  shabby-looking  men  in  black, 
with  spectacles  and  unhealthy  complexions,  who  came  and 
went  in  the  morning  when  old  Macomer  was  in  his  study 
attending  to  affairs.  Veronica  knew  none  but  Squarci  by  name, 
and  never  spoke  with  any  of  them.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
reason  why  she  should. 

The  count  had  told  her  that  when  she  wished  it,  he  was 
ready  to  render  an  account  of  the  estates  and  would  be  happy 
to  explain  everything  to  her  at  length.  She  understood  nothing 
of  business  and  was  content  to  accept  the  roughest  statement 
as  he  chose  to  give  it  to  her.  She  was  far  too  young  to  distrust 
the  man  whom  she  had  been  taught  to  respect  as  her  guardian 
and  as  a  person  of  scrupulous  honesty.  She  was  completely  in 
his  power,  and  she  was  accustomed  to  ask  him  for  any  little 
sums  she  needed.  It  never  really  struck  her  that  he  might 
misuse  the  authority  she  indifferently  left  in  his  hands. 

It  was  her  aunt  who  had  induced  her  to  make  the  will,  and 
for  whose  conduct  she  felt  a  sort  of  undefined  resentment  and 
contempt.  Considering,  she  thought,  how  improbable  it  was 
that  she  herself  should  die  before  Matilde  Macomer,  the  latter 
had  shown  an  absurd  anxiety  about  the  disposal  of  the  fortune. 
If  Veronica  had  yielded  the  point,  she  had  done  so  in  order  to 
get  rid  of  an  importunity  which  wearied  her  perpetually.  She 
was  to  marry,  of  course,  in  due  time.  God  would  give  her 
children,  and  they  would  inherit  her  wealth.  It  was  really 
ridiculous  of  her  aunt  to  be  so  anxious  lest  it  should  all  go  to 
those  distant  relations  in  Sicily  and  Spain.  Nevertheless,  in 
order  to  have  peace,  she  signed  the  will,  and  her  aunt  thanked 
her  effusively,  and  old  Macomer's  flat  lips  touched  her  forehead 
while  he  spoke  a  few  words  of  gratified  approval. 

In  the  evening  she  told  Bosio,  the  count's  brother,  of  what 
she  had  done.  His  gentle  eyes  looked  at  her  thoughtfully  for 
a  few  seconds,  and  he  did  not  smile,  nor  did  he  make  any 
observation. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  was  talking  of  a  picture  he  had  seen 
for  sale — a  mere  sketch,  but  by  Ribera,  called  the  Spagnoletto. 
She  made  up  her  mind  to  buy  it  for  him  as  a  surprise,  for  it 
pleased  her  to  give  him  pleasure. 


ii  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

But  when  she  was  alone  in  her  room  that  night  she  recalled 
Bosio's  expression  when  she  had  told  him  about  the  will.  She 
was  sure  that  he  was  not  pleased,  and  she  wondered  why  he 
had  not  at  least  said  something  in  reply — something  quite 
indifferent  perhaps,  but  yet  something,  instead  of  looking  at 
her  in  total  silence,  just  for  those  few  seconds.  After  all,  she 
was  really  more  intimate  with  him  than  with  her  aunt  and 
uncle,  and  liked  him  better  than  either  of  them,  so  that  she  had 
a  right  to  expect  that  he  should  have  answered  with  something 
more  than  silence  when  she  told  him  of  such  a  matter. 

She  sat  a  long  time  in  a  deep  chair  near  her  toilet  table, 
thinking  about  her  own  life,  in  the  great  dim  room  which  half 
a  dozen  candles  barely  lighted;  and  perhaps  it  was  the  first 
time  that  she  had  really  asked  herself  how  long  her  present 
mode  of  existence  was  to  continue,  how  long  she  was  to  lie 
half-hidden,  as  it  were,  in  the  sombrely  respectable  dimness  of 
the  Macomer  establishment,  how  long  she  was  to  remain  un 
married.  Knowing  the  customs  of  her  own  people  in  regard 
to  marriage,  as  she  did,  it  was  certainly  strange  that  she  should 
not  have  heard  of  any  offer  made  to  her  uncle  and  aunt  for  her 
hand.  Surely  the  mothers  of  marriageable  sons  knew  of  her 
existence,  of  her  fortune,  of  the  titles  she  held  in  her  own  right 
and  could  confer  upon  her  husband  and  leave  to  her  children. 
It  was  not  natural  that  no  one  should  wish  to  marry  her,  that 
no  mother  should  desire  such  an  heiress  for  her  son. 

With  the  distrustful  introspection  of  maiden  youth,  she 
suddenly  asked  herself  whether  by  any  possibility  she  were 
different  from  other  girls  and  whether  she  had  not  some 
strange  defect,  physical  or  mental,  of  which  the  existence  had 
been  most  carefully  concealed  from  her  all  her  life.  In  the 
quick  impulse  she  rose  and  brought  all  the  burning  candles  to 
the  toilet  table,  and  lighted  others,  and  stood  before  the 
mirror,  in  the  yellow  light,  gazing  most  critically  at  her  own 
reflexion.  She  looked  long  and  earnestly  and  quite  without 
vanity.  She  told  herself,  cataloguing  her  looks,  that  her  hair 
was  neither  black  nor  brown,  but  that  it  was  very  thick  and 
long  and  waved  naturally ;  that  her  eyes  were  very  dark,  with 
queer  little  angles  just  above  the  lids,  under  the  prominent 
brows ;  that  her  nose,  seen  in  full  face,  looked  very  straight 
and  rather  small,  though  she  had  been  told  by  the  girls  in  the 
convent  that  it  was  aquiline  and  pointed ;  that  her  cheeks  were 
thin  and  almost  colourless;  that  her  chin  was  round  and 


I  TAQUISARA  13 

smooth  and  prominent,  her  lips  rather  dark  than  red,  and 
modelled  in  a  high  curve ;  that  her  ears  were  very  small — she 
threw  back  the  heavy  hair  to  see  them  better,  turning  her  face 
sideways  to  the  glass;  that  her  throat  was  over-slender,  and 
her  neck  and  arms  far  too  thin  for  beauty,  but  with  a  young 
leanness  which  might  improve  with  time,  though  nothing  could 
ever  make  them  white.  She  was  dark,  on  the  whole.  She 
was  willing  to  admit  that  she  was  sallow,  that  her  eyes  had  a 
rather  sad  look  in  them,  and  even  that  one  was  almost 
imperceptibly  larger  than  the  other,  though  the  difference  was 
so  small  that  she  had  never  noticed  it  before,  and  it  might  be 
due  to  the  uncertain  light  of  the  candles  in  the  dim  room.  But 
most  assuredly  there  was  no  physical  defect  to  be  seen.  She 
was  not  beautiful  like  poor  Bianca  Corleone ;  but  she  was  far 
from  ugly — that  was  certain. 

And  in  mind — she  laughed  as  she  looked  at  herself  in  the 
glass.  Bosio  Macomer  told  her  that  she  was  clever,  and  he 
certainly  knew.  But  her  own  expression  pleased  her  when  she 
laughed,  and  she  laughed  again  with  pleasure,  and  watched 
herself  in  a  sort  of  girlish  and  innocent  satisfaction.  Then 
her  eyes  met  their  own  reflexion,  and  she  grew  suddenly  grave 
again,  and  something  in  them  told  her  that  they  were  not 
laughing  with  her  lips,  and  might  not  often  look  upon  things 
mirthful. 

But  she  was  not  stupid,  and  she  was  not  ugly.  She  had 
assured  herself  of  that.  The  worst  that  could  be  said  was  that 
she  was  a  very  thin  girl  and  that  her  complexion  was  not 
brilliant,  though  it  was  healthy  enough,  and  clear.  No — there 
was  certainly  no  reason  why  her  aunt  should  not  have  received 
offers  of  marriage  for  her,  and  many  people  would  have  thought 
it  strange  that  she  should  be  still  unmarried — with  her  looks, 
her  name,  and  that  great  fortune  of  which  Gregorio  Macomer 
was  taking  such  good  care. 


CHAPTER  II 

ON  that  same  night,  when  Veronica  had  gone  to  her  room, 
Bosio  Macomer  remained  alone  with  the  countess  in  the  small 
drawing-room  in  which  the  family  generally  spent  the  evening. 


14  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Gregorio  was  presumably  in  his  study,  busy  with  his  perpetual 
accounts  or  otherwise  occupied.  He  very  often  spent  the  hours 
between  dinner  and  bedtime  by  himself,  leaving  his  brother  to 
keep  his  wife  company  if  Veronica  chose  to  retire  early. 

The  room  was  small,  and  the  first  impression  of  colour 
which  it  gave  was  that  of  a  strong,  deep  yellow.  There  was 
yellow  damask  on  the  walls,  the  curtains  were  of  an  old  sort  of 
silk  material  in  stripes  of  yellow  and  chocolate,  and  most  of  the 
furniture  was  covered  with  yellow  satin.  The  whole  was  in  the 
style  of  the  early  part  of  this  century,  modified  by  the  bad  taste 
of  the  Second  Empire,  with  much  gilded  carving  about  the 
doors  and  the  corners  of  the  big  panels  in  which  the  damask 
was  stretched,  while  the  low,  vaulted  ceiling  was  a  mass  of  gilt 
stucco,  modelled  in  heavy  acanthus  leaves  and  arabesques,  from 
the  centre  of  which  hung  a  chandelier  of  white  Venetian  glass. 
There  were  no  pictures  on  the  walls,  and  there  were  no  flowers 
nor  plants  in  pots,  to  relieve  the  strong  colour  which  filled  the 
eye.  Nevertheless  the  room  had  the  air  of  being  inhabited, 
and  was  less  glaring  and  stiff  and  old-fashioned  than  it  might 
seem  from  this  description.  There  were  a  good  many  books 
on  the  tables,  chiefly  French  novels,  as  yellow  as  the  hangings ; 
and  there  were  writing  materials  and  a  couple  of  newspapers 
and  two  or  three  open  notes.  A  small  wood  fire  burned  in  a 
deep,  low  fireplace  adorned  with  marble  and  gilt  brass. 

Matilde  Macomer  sat,  leaning  back,  upon  a  little  sofa  which 
stood  across  a  corner  of  the  room  far  from  the  fire.  One  hand 
lay  idly  in  her  lap,  the  other,  as  she  stretched  out  her  arm,  lay 
upon  the  back  of  the  sofa,  and  her  head  with  its  thick,  brown 
hair  was  bent  down.  She  had  fixed  her  eyes  upon  a  point  of 
the  carpet  and  had  not  moved  from  her  position  for  a  long 
time.  The  folds  of  her  black  gown  made  graceful  lines  from 
her  knees  to  her  feet,  and  her  imposing  figure  was  thrown  into 
strong  relief  against  the  yellow  background  as  she  leaned  to  the 
corner,  one  foot  just  touching  the  floor. 

Bosio  sat  at  a  distance  from  her,  on  a  low  chair,  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  staring  at  the  fire.  Neither  had  spoken  for 
several  minutes.  Matilde  broke  the  silence  first,  her  eyes  still 
fixed  on  the  carpet. 

"  You  must  marry  Veronica,"  she  said  slowly  ;  "  nothing  else 
can  save  us." 

It  was  clear  that  the  idea  was  not  new  to  Bosio,  for  he 
showed  no  surprise.  But  he  turned  deliberately  and  looked  at 


II  TAQUISARA  15 

the  countess  before  he  answered  her.  There  were  unusual 
lines  in  his  quiet  face — lines  of  great  distress  and  perplexity. 

"  It  is  a  crime,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

Matilde  raised  her  eyes,  with  an  almost  imperceptible  move 
ment  of  the  shoulders. 

"  Murder  is  a  crime,"  she  answered  simply.  Then  Bosio 
started  violently  and  turned  very  white,  almost  rising  from  his 
seat. 

"  Murder  ?  "  he  cried ;  "  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Matilde's  smooth  red  lips  smiled. 

"  I  merely  mentioned  it  as  an  instance  of  a  crime,"  she  said, 
without  any  change  of  tone.  "You  said  it  would  be  a  crime 
for  you  to  marry  Veronica.  It  did  not  strike  me  that  it  could 
be  called  by  that  name.  Crimes  are  murder,  stealing,  forgery 
— such  things.  Who  would  say  that  it  was  criminal  for  Bosio 
Macomer  to  marry  Veronica  Serra?  There  is  no  reason  against 
it.  I  daresay  that  many  people  wonder  why  you  have  not 
married  her  already,  and  that  many  others  suppose  that  you 
will  before  long.  You  are  young,  you  have  never  been  married, 
you  have  a  very  good  name  and  a  small  fortune  of  your  own." 

"  Take  it,  then  ! "  exclaimed  Bosio,  impulsively.  "  You  shall 
have  it  all  to-morrow — everything  I  possess.  God  knows,  I  am 
ready  to  give  you  all  I  have.  Take  it.  I  can  live  somehow. 
What  do  I  care  ?  I  have  given  you  my  life — what  is  a  little 
money?  But  do  not  ask  me  to  marry  her,  your  niece,  here, 
under  your  very  roof.  I  am  not  a  saint,  but  I  cannot  do  that!" 

"  No,"  answered  the  countess,  "  we  are  not  saints,  you  and 
I,  it  is  true.  For  my  part,  I  make  no  pretences.  But  the 
trouble  is  desperate,  Bosio.  I  do  not  know  what  to  do.  It  is 
desperate  !  "  she  repeated  with  sudden  energy.  "  Desperate,  I 
tell  you  ! " 

"  I  suppose  that  all  I  have  would  be  of  no  use,  then  ?  "  asked 
Bosio,  disheartened. 

"  It  would  pay  the  interest  for  a  few  months  longer.  That 
would  be  all.  Then  we  should  be  where  we  are  now,  or  shall 
be  in  three  weeks." 

"  Throw  yourself  upon  her  mercy.  Ask  her  to  forgive  you 
and  to  lend  you  money,"  suggested  Bosio.  "  She  is  kind — she 
will  do  it,  when  she  knows  the  truth." 

"  I  had  thought  of  that,"  answered  Matilde.  "  But,  in  the 
first  place,  you  do  not  know  her.  Secondly,  you  forget 
Cardinal  Campodonico." 


16  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Since  he  has  left  the  management  of  her  fortune  in  Gre- 
gorio's  hands,  he  will  not  begin  to  ask  questions  at  this  point. 
Besides,  the  guardianship  is  at  an  end — " 

"  The  estate  has  not  been  made  over.  He  will  insist  upon 
seeing  the  accounts — that  is  no  matter,  for  they  will  bear  his 
inspection  well  enough.  Squarci  is  clever !  But  Veronica 
sees  him.  She  would  tell  him  of  our  trouble,  if  we  went  to 
her.  If  not,  she  would  certainly  tell  Bianca  Corleone,  who  is 
his  niece.  If  he  suspected  anything,  let  alone  knowing  the 
truth,  that  would  be  the  end  of  everything.  It  would  be  better 
for  us  to  escape  before  the  crash — if  we  could.  It  comes  to 
that — unless  you  will  help  us." 

"  By  marrying  Veronica  ?  "  asked  Bosio,  with  a  bitterness  not 
natural  to  him. 

"  I  see  no  other  way.  The  cardinal  could  see  the  accounts. 
You  could  be  married,  and  the  fortune  could  be  made  over  to 
you.  She  would  never  know,  nor  ask  questions.  You  could 
set  our  affairs  straight,  and  still  be  the  richest  man  in  Naples 
or  Sicily.  It  would  all  be  over.  It  would  be  peace — at  last, 
at  last ! "  she  repeated,  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone  that 
ended  in  a  deep-drawn  sigh  of  anticipated  relief.  "You  do 
not  know  half  there  is  to  tell,"  she  continued,  speaking  rapidly 
after  a  moment's  pause.  "We  are  ruined,  and  worse  than 
ruined.  We  have  been,  for  years.  Gregorio  got  himself  into 
that  horrible  speculation  years  and  years  ago,  though  I  knew 
nothing  about  it.  While  Veronica  was  a  minor,  he  helped 
himself,  as  he  could — with  her  money.  It  was  easy,  for  he 
controlled  everything.  But  now  he  can  do  nothing  without  her 
signature.  Squarci  said  so  last  week.  He  cannot  sell  a  bit  of 
land,  a  stick  of  timber,  anything,  without  her  name.  And  we 
are  ruined,  Bosio.  This  house  is  mortgaged,  and  the  mortgage 
expires  on  the  first  of  January,  in  three  weeks.  We  have 
nothing  left — nothing  but  the  hope  of  Veronica's  charity — 
or  the  hope  that  you  will  marry  her  and  save  us  from  starva 
tion  and  disgrace.  I  got  her  to  sign  the  will.  There  was — " 

The  countess  checked  herself  and  stopped  short,  turning  an 
emerald  ring  which  she  wore.  She  was  pale. 

"  There  was  what  ?  "  asked  Bosio,  in  an  unsteady  tone. 

"There  was  just  the  bare  possibility  that  she  might  die 
before  January,"  said  Matilde,  almost  in  a  whisper.  "  People 
die  young  sometimes,  you  know — very  young.  It  pleases 
Providence  to  do  strange  things.  Of  course  it  would  be  most 


II  TAQUISARA  17 

dreadful,  if  she  were  to  die,  would  it  not  ?  It  would  be  lonely 
in  the  house,  without  her.  It  seems  to  me,  that  I  should 
see  her  at  night  in  the  dark  corners  when  I  should  be  alone. 
Ugh!" 

Matilde  Macomer  shivered  suddenly,  and  then  stared  at 
Bosio  with  frightened  eyes.  He  glanced  at  her  nervously. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  you,"  he  said. 

"Of  me?"  Her  presence  of  mind  returned.  "What  an 
idea !  just  because  I  suggested  that  poor  little  Veronica  might 
catch  a  cold  or  a  fever  in  this  horrible  weather,  and  might  die 
of  the  one  or  the  other  ?  And  just  because  I  am  fond  of  her, 
and  said  that  I  should  be  afraid  of  seeing  her  in  the  dark ! 
Heaven  give  her  a  hundred  years  of  life  !  Why  should  we  talk 
of  such  sad  things  ?  " 

"  It  is  certainly  not  I  who  wish  to  talk  of  them,  or  think  of 
them,"  answered  Bosio,  thoughtfully,  and  turning  once  more  to 
the  fire.  "  You  are  over-wrought,  Matilde — you  are  unhappy, 
afraid  of  the  future — what  shall  I  say  ?  Sometimes  you  speak 
in  a  strange  way." 

"  Is  it  any  wonder  ?  The  case  is  desperate,  and  I  am 
desperate,  too — " 

"  Do  not  say  it — " 

"  Then  say  that  you  will  marry  Veronica,  and  save  us  all, 
and  bring  peace  into  the  house — for  my  sake,  Bosio — for  me  ! " 

She  leaned  forward,  and  her  hands  met  upon  her  knee  in 
something  like  a  gesture  of  supplication,  while  she  sought  his 
eyes. 

"  For  your  sake,"  repeated  Bosio,  dreamily.  "  For  your 
sake  ?  But  you  ask  the  impossible,  Matilde.  Besides,  she 
would  not  marry  me.  She  would  laugh  at  the  idea.  And 
then — for  you  and  me — it  is  horrible  !  You  have  no  right  to 
ask  it." 

"  No  right  ?  Ah,  Bosio  !  Have  I  not  the  right  to  ask  any 
thing  of  you,  after  all  these  years  ?  " 

"  Anything — but  not  that !  Your  niece — under  your  roof ! 
No — no — no  !  I  cannot,  even  if  she  would  consent." 

"  Not  even — "  Matilde's  splendid  eyes,  so  cruelly  close  to 
gether,  fastened  themselves  upon  the  weak  man's  face,  and  she 
frowned. 

"  Not  even  if  you  thought  it  would  be  much  better  for  her? 3) 
she  asked  very  slowly,  completing  the  sentence. 

Again  he  started  and  shrank  from  her. 


i8  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"Just  God!"  he  exclaimed  under  his  breath.  "That  a 
woman  should  have  such  thoughts ! "  Then  he  turned  upon 
her  with  an  instinctive  revival  of  manhood  and  honour.  "  You 
shall  not  hurt  her ! "  he  cried,  as  fiercely  as  his  voice  could 
speak.  "  You  shall  not  hurt  a  hair  of  her  head,  not  even  to 
save  yourself!  I  will  warn  her — I  will  have  her  protected — I 
will  tell  everything  !  What  is  my  life  worth  ?  " 

"You  would  merely  be  told  that  you  were  mad,  and  we 
should  have  you  taken  out  to  the  asylum  at  Aversa — as  mad  as 
I  am,  or  soon  shall  be,  if  this  goes  on  !  You  are  mad  to  believe 
that  I  could  do  such  things — I,  a  woman !  And  yet,  I  know  I 
say  words  that  have  no  reason  in  them  !  And  I  think  crimes — 
horrible  crimes,  when  I  am  alone — and  I  can  tell  no  one  but 
you.  Have  pity  on  me,  Bosio !  I  was  not  always  what  I  am 
now — " 

She  spoke  incoherently,  and  her  steadiness  broke  down  all  at 
once,  for  she  had  been  living  long  under  a  fearful  strain  of 
terror  and  anxiety.  The  consciousness  that  she  could  say  with 
safety  whatever  came  first  to  her  lips  helped  to  weaken  her. 
She  half  expected  that  Bosio  would  rise,  and  come  to  her  and 
comfort  her,  perhaps,  as  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  shivering 
in  fear  of  herself  and  shaking  a  little  with  the  convulsive  sob 
that  was  so  near. 

But  Bosio  did  not  move  from  his  seat.  He  sat  quite  still, 
staring  at  the  fire.  He  was  not  a  physical  coward,  but,  morally 
speaking,  he  was  terrified  and  stunned  by  what  he  had  under 
stood  her  to  say.  Probably  no  man  of  any  great  strength  of 
character,  however  bad,  could  have  lived  the  life  he  had  led  in 
that  house  for  many  years,  dominated  by  such  a  woman  as 
Matilde  Macomer.  And  now  his  weakness  showed  itself,  to 
himself  and  to  her,  in  what  he  felt,  and  in  what  he  did,  respec 
tively.  A  strong  man,  having  once  felt  that  revival  of  manly 
instinct,  would  have  turned  upon  her  and  terrified  her  and 
mastered  her;  and,  within  himself,  his  heart  might  have  broken 
because  he  had  ever  loved  such  a  woman.  But  Bosio  sat  still 
in  his  seat  and  said  nothing  more,  though  his  brow  was  moist 
with  a  creeping,  painful,  trembling  emotion  that  twisted  his 
heart  and  tore  his  delicate  nerves.  He  felt  that  his  hands  were 
very  cold,  but  that  he  could  not  speak.  She  dominated  him 
still,  and  he  was  ashamed  of  the  weakness,  and  of  his  own 
desire  to  go  and  comfort  her  and  forget  the  things  she  had  said. 

If  he  had  spoken  to  her,  she  would  have  burst  into  tears ; 


II  TAQUISARA  19 

but  his  silence  betrayed  that  he  had  no  strength,  and  she 
suddenly  felt  that  she  was  strong  again,  and  that  there  was 
hope,  and  that  he  might  marry  Veronica  after  all.  A  woman 
rarely  breaks  down  to  very  tears  before  a  man  weaker  than  her 
self,  though  she  may  be  near  it. 

"You  must  marry  her,"  said  Matilde,  with  returning  steadi 
ness.  "  You  owe  it  to  your  brother  and  to  me.  Should  I  say, 
'to  me,'  first?  It  is  to  save  us  from  disgrace — from  being 
prosecuted  as  well  as  ruined,  from  being  dragged  into  court  to 
answer  for  having  wilfully  defrauded — that  is  the  word  they 
would  use  ! — for  having  wilfully  defrauded  Veronica  Serra  of  a 
great  deal  of  money,  when  we  were  her  guardians  and  respon 
sible  for  everything  she  had.  My  hands  are  clean  of  that — 
your  brother  did  it  without  my  knowledge.  But  no  judge 
living  would  believe  that  I,  being  a  guardian  with  my  husband, 
could  be  so  wholly  ignorant  of  his  affairs.  There  are  severe 
penalties  for  such  things,  Bosio — I  believe  that  we  should  both 
be  sent  to  penal  servitude ;  for  no  power  on  earth  could  save 
us  from  a  conviction,  any  more  than  anything  but  Veronica's 
money  can  save  us  from  ruin  now.  Gregorio  has  taken  much, 
but  it  has  been  nothing  compared  with  the  whole  fortune.  If 
you  marry  her,  she  will  never  know — no  one  will  know — no 
one  will  ever  guess.  As  her  husband  you  will  have  control  of 
everything,  and  no  one  then  will  blame  you  for  taking  a  hun 
dredth  part  of  your  wife's  money  to  save  your  brother.  You 
will  have  the  right  to  do  it.  Your  hands  will  be  clean,  too,  as 
they  are  to-day.  What  is  the  crime  ?  What  is  the  difficulty  ? 
What  is  the  objection  ?  And  on  the  other  side  there  is  ruin,  a 
public  trial,  a  conviction  and  penal  servitude  for  your  own 
brother,  Gregorio,  Count  Macomer,  and  Matilde  Serra,  his  wife." 

"  My  God  !  What  a  choice  ! "  exclaimed  Bosio,  pressing 
both  his  cold  hands  to  his  wet  forehead. 

"  There  is  no  choice  !  "  answered  the  woman,  with  low,  quick 
emphasis.  "  Your  mind  is  made  up,  and  we  will  announce  the 
engagement  at  once.  I  do  not  care  what  objection  Veronica 
makes.  She  likes  you,  she  is  half  in  love  with  you — what  other 
man  does  she  know  ?  And  if  she  did — she  would  not  repent 
of  marrying  you  rather  than  any  one  else.  You  will  make  her 
happy — as  for  me,  I  shall  at  least  not  die  a  disgraced  woman. 
You  talk  of  choice !  Mine  would  be  between  a  few  drops  of 
morphia  and  the  galleys, — a  thousand  times  more  desperate 
than  yours,  it  seems  to  me  ! " 


20  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Her  large  eyes  flashed  with  the  furious  determination  to 
make  him  do  what  she  desired.  His  hands  had  fallen  from  his 
face,  and  he  was  looking  at  her  almost  quietly,  not  yielding  so 
much  as  she  thought,  but  at  least  listening  gravely  instead 
of  telling  her  that  she  asked  the  impossible. 

The  door  opened  discreetly,  and  a  servant  appeared  upon 
the  threshold. 

"The  Signer  Duca  della  Spina  begs  your  Excellency  to 
receive  him  for  a  moment,  if  it  is  not  too  late." 

"Certainly,"  answered  the  countess,  instantly,  and  with 
perfect  self-control. 

The  servant  closed  the  door  and  went  back  to  deliver  the 
short  message.  Matilde  threw  the  folds  of  her  black  gown 
away  from  her  feet,  so  that  she  might  rise  to  meet  the  visitor, 
who  was  an  old  man  and  a  person  of  importance.  She  looked 
keenly  at  Bosio. 

"  Do  not  go  away,"  she  said,  quickly,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Your 
forehead  is  wet — dry  it — compose  yourself — be  natural ! " 

Before  Bosio  had  returned  his  handkerchief  to  his  pocket  the 
door  opened  again,  and  a  tall  old  man  entered  with  a  stooping 
gait.  He  had  weak  and  inquiring  eyes  that  looked  about  the 
room  as  he  walked.  His  head  was  bald,  and  shone  like  a  skull 
in  the  yellow  reflexion  from  the  damask  hangings.  His  gait 
was  not  firm,  and  as  he  passed  Bosio  in  order  to  reach  the 
countess,  he  had  an  uncertain  movement  of  head  and  hand,  as 
though  he  were  inclined  to  speak  to  him  first.  Matilde  had 
risen,  however,  and  had  moved  a  step  forward  to  meet  the 
visitor,  speaking  at  the  same  time,  as  though  to  direct  him  to 
herself,  with  the  somewhat  maternal  air  which  even  young 
women  sometimes  assume  in  greeting  old  men. 

The  Duca  della  Spina  smiled  rather  feebly  as  he  took  the 
outstretched  hand,  and  slowly  sat  down  upon  the  sofa  beside 
Matilde. 

"I  feared  it  might  be  too  late,"  he  began,  and  his  watery 
blue  eyes  sought  her  face  anxiously.  "But  my  son  insisted 
that  I  should  come  this  evening,  when  he  found  that  I  had  not 
been  able  to  see  you  this  afternoon." 

"How  is  he?"  asked  the  countess,  suddenly  assuming  an 
expression  of  great  concern. 

"  Eh  !  How  he  is  !  He  is — so,"  answered  the  Duca,  with  a 
gesture  which  meant  uncertainty.  "Signora  Contessa,"  he 
added,  "  he  is  not  well  at  all.  It  is  natural  with  the  young.  It 


ii  TAQUISARA  21 

is  passion.  What  else  can  I  tell  you  ?  He  is  impatient  His 
nerves  shake  him,  and  he  does  not  eat.  Morning  and  evening 
he  asks,  '  Father,  what  will  it  be  ?  '  So,  to  content  him,  I  have 
come  to  disturb  you." 

"  Not  in  the  least,  dear  Duca  ! " 

The  door  opened  again,  and  Gregorio  Macomer  entered  the 
room,  having  been  informed  of  the  presence  of  a  visitor.  The 
Duca  looked  up,  and  his  head  shook  involuntarily,  as  he  at 
once  began  the  slow  process  of  getting  upon  his  legs.  But 
Macomer  was  already  pressing  him  into  his  seat  again,  holding 
the  old  hand  in  both  of  his  with  an  appearance  of  much 
cordiality. 

"  I  hope  that  Gianluca  is  no  worse  ?  "  he  said,  with  an  inter 
rogation  that  expressed  friendly  interest. 

"  Better  he  is  not,"  answered  the  Duca,  sadly.  "  What  would 
you  ?  It  is  passion.  That  is  why  I  have  come  at  this  hour, 
and  I  have  made  my  excuses  to  the  Signora  Contessa  for  dis 
turbing  her." 

"  Excuses  ?  "  cried  Gregorio,  promptly.  "  We  are  delighted 
to  see  you,  dear  friend  ! " 

But  as  he  spoke  he  turned  a  look  of  inquiry  upon  his 
wife,  and  she  answered  by  a  scarcely  perceptible  sign  of 
negation. 

They  had  been  taken  by  surprise,  for  they  had  not  expected 
the  Duca's  visit.  Not  heeding  them,  his  heart  full  of  his  son, 
the  old  man  continued  to  speak,  in  short,  almost  tremulous 
sentences. 

"  It  is  certain  that  Gianluca  is  very  ill,"  he  said.  "  Taquisara 
has  been  with  him  to-day,  and  Pietro  Ghisleri — but  Taquisara 
is  his  best  friend.  You  know  Taquisara,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  A  Sicilian  ?  "  asked  the  countess,  encouraging  the  old  man 
to  go  on. 

"  Yes,"  said  Macomer,  answering  for  the  Duca,  for  he  was 
proud  of  his  genealogical  knowledge.  "  The  only  son  of  the 
old  Baron  of  Guardia.  But  every  one  calls  him  Taquisara, 
though  his  father  is  dead.  There  is  a  story  which  says  that 
they  are  descended  from  Tancred." 

""It  may  be,"  said  the  old  Duca.  "There  are  so  many 
legends — but  he  is  Gianluca's  best  friend,  and  he  comes  to  see 
him  every  day.  The  boy  is  ill — very  ill."  He  shook  his  head, 
and  bent  it  almost  to  his  breast.  "  He  wastes  away,  and  I  do 
not  know  what  to  do  for  him." 


22  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

The  Count  and  Countess  Macomer  also  shook  their  heads 
gravely,  but  said  nothing.  Bosio,  seated  at  a  little  distance, 
looked  on,  his  brain  still  disturbed  by  what  had  gone  before, 
and  wondering  at  Matilde's  power  of  seeming  at  her  ease  in 
such  a  desperate  situation ;  wondering,  too,  at  his  brother's 
hard,  cold  face — the  mask  that  had  so  well  hidden  the  passion 
of  the  gambler,  and  perhaps  many  other  passions  as  well,  of 
which  even  Bosio  knew  nothing,  nor  cared  to  know  anything, 
having  secrets  of  his  own  to  keep. 

All  at  once,  and  without  warning,  after  the  short  pause,  the 
old  man  broke  out  in  tremulous  entreaty. 

"  Oh  !  my  friends  ! "  he  cried.  "  Do  not  say  no  !  I  shall 
not  have  the  courage  to  take  such  a  message  to  my  poor  son  ! 
Eh,  they  say  that  nowadays  old-fashioned  love  is  not  to  be 
found.  But  look  at  Gianluca — he  consumes  himself,  he  wastes 
away  before  my  eyes,  and  one  day  follows  another,  and  I  can 
do  nothing.  You  do  not  believe  ?  Go  and  see !  One  day 
follows  another — he  is  always  in  his  room,  consuming  himself 
for  love  !  He  is  pale — paler  than  a  sheet.  He  does  not  eat, 
he  does  not  drink,  he  does  not  smoke — he,  who  smoked  thirty 
cigarettes  a  day !  As  for  the  theatre,  or  going  out,  he  will  not 
hear  of  it.  He  says,  '  I  will  not  see  her,  for  if  she  will  not  have 
me,  it  is  better  to  die  quickly.'  A  father's  heart,  dear  Macomer 
— think  of  what  I  suffer,  and  have  compassion !  He  is  my 
only  one — such  a  beautiful  boy,  and  so  young — " 

"  We  are  sorry,"  said  Matilde,  with  firm-voiced  sympathy  that 
was  already  a  refusal. 

"  You  will  not ! "  cried  the  old  man,  shakily,  in  his  distress. 
"  Say  you  will  not — but  not  that  you  are  sorry  !  And  Heaven 
knows  it  is  not  for  Donna  Veronica's  money !  The  contract 
shall  be  as  you  please — we  do  no  need — 

"Who  has  spoken  of  money?"  The  countess's  tone  ex 
pressed  grave  indifference  to  such  a  trifle.  "  Dear  Duca,  do 
not  be  distressed.  We  cannot  help  it.  We  cannot  dictate  to 
Providence.  Had  circumstances  been  different,  what  better 
match  could  we  have  found  for  her  than  your  dear  son  ?  But 
I  told  you  that  the  girl's  inclinations  must  be  consulted,  and 
that  we  had  little  hope  of  satisfying  you.  And  now — "  She 
looked  earnestly  at  her  husband,  as  though  to  secure  his  con 
sent  beforehand — "  and  now  it  has  turned  out  as  we  foresaw. 
Courage,  dear  Duca  !  Your  son  is  young.  He  has  seen  Vero 
nica  but  a  few  times,  and  they  have  certainly  never  been  alone 


II  TAQUISARA  33 

together — what  can  it  really  be,  such  love-passion  as  that? 
Veronica  has  made  her  choice." 

Not  a  muscle  of  Macomer's  hard  face  moved.  He  knew 
that  if  his  wife  had  a  surprise  for  him  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  it  must  be  for  their  joint  interest.  But  the  Duca  della 
Spina's  jaw  dropped,  and  his  hands  shook. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  countess,  calmly,  "  Veronica  has  made 
her  choice.  It  is  hard  for  us  to  tell  you,  knowing  how  you  feel 
for  your  son.  Veronica  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  Bosio, 
here." 

Bosio  started  violently,  for  he  was  a  very  nervously  organized 
man ;  but  his  brother's  face  did  not  change,  though  the  small 
eyes  suddenly  flashed  into  sight  brightly  from  beneath  the 
drooping,  concealing  lids.  A  dead  silence  followed,  which 
lasted  several  seconds.  Matilde  had  laid  her  hand  upon  the 
Duca's  arm,  as  though  to  give  him  courage,  and  she  felt  it 
tremble  under  her  touch,  for  he  loved  his  son  very  dearly. 

"You  might  have  written  me  this  news,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a 
low  voice  and  with  a  dazed  look.  "You  might — you  might 
have  spared  me — oh,  my  son  !  My  poor  Gianluca  ! "  His 
voice  broke,  and  the  weak,  sincere  tears  broke  from  the  watery 
eyes  and  trickled  down  the  wasted  cheeks  piteously,  while  his 
head  turned  slowly  from  side  to  side  in  sorrowfully  hopeless 
regret. 

"  It  has  only  been  decided  this  evening,"  said  Matilde. 
"  We  should  have  written  to  you  in  the  morning." 

"  Of  course,"  echoed  her  husband,  gravely.  "  It  was  our 
duty  to  let  you  know  at  once." 

The  Duca  della  Spina  rose  painfully  to  his  feet.  He  seemed 
quite  unconscious  of  the  tears  he  had  shed,  and  too  much  shaken 
to  take  leave  with  any  formality.  Bosio  stood  quite  still,  when 
he  had  risen  too,  and  his  face  was  white.  The  old  man  passed 
him  without  a  word,  going  to  the  door. 

"  My  poor  son  !  my  poor  Gianluca  ! "  he  repeated  to  himself, 
as  Gregorio  Macomer  accompanied  him. 

Matilde  and  Bosio  were  left  alone  for  a  moment,  but  they 
knew  that  the  count  would  return  at  once.  They  stood  still, 
looking  each  at  the  other,  with  very  different  expressions. 

Bosio  felt  that,  in  his  place,  a  strong  brave  man  would  have 
done  something,  would  have  stood  up  to  deny  the  engagement, 
perhaps,  or  would  have  left  the  room  rather  than  accept  the 
situation  in  submissive  silence,  protesting  in  some  way,  though 


24  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

only  Matilde  should  have  understood  the  protest.  She,  on  her 
side,  slowly  nodded  her  approval  of  his  conduct,  and  in  her 
dark  eyes  there  was  a  yellow  reflexion  from  the  predominating 
colour  of  the  room;  there  was  triumph  and  satisfaction,  and 
there  was  the  threat  of  the  woman  who  dominates  the  man  and 
is  sure  of  doing  with  him  as  she  pleases.  Yet  she  was  not 
so  sure  of  herself  as  she  seemed,  and  wished  to  seem,  for  she 
dreaded  Bosio's  sense  of  honour,  which  was  not  wholly  dead. 

"  Do  not  deny  it  to  Gregorio,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  when 
she  heard  her  husband's  footstep  returning  through  the  room 
beyond. 

Old  Macomer  came  back  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"  What  is  this?"  he  asked,  at  once;  but  though  his  voice  was 
hard,  it  was  trembling  with  the  anticipation  of  a  great  victory. 
"  Has  Veronica  consented  ?  " 

"  No  one  has  spoken  to  her,"  answered  Bosio,  before  Matilde 
could  speak. 

"  As  though  that  mattered ! "  cried  the  countess,  with  con 
tempt.  There  is  time  for  that ! " 

Gregorio's  eyelids  contracted  with  an  expression  of  cunning. 

"  Oh  !  "  he  exclaimed,  thoughtfully,  "  I  understand."  He 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  in  the  narrow  space  between  the 
furniture  of  the  small  sitting-room,  bending  his  head  between 
his  high  shoulders.  "  I  see,"  he  repeated.  "  I  understand. 
But  if  Veronica  refuses  ?  You  have  been  rash,  Matilde." 

"Veronica  loves  him,"  answered  the  countess.  "And  of 
course  you  know  that  he  loves  her,"  she  added,  and  her  smooth 
lips  smiled.  "You  need  not  deny  it  before  us,  Bosio.  You 
have  loved  her  ever  since  she  came  from  the  convent — " 

"  I  ?  "     Bosio's  pale  face  reddened  with  anger. 

"  See  how  he  blushes  ! "  laughed  Matilde.  "  As  for  Veronica, 
she  will  talk  to  no  one  else.  They  are  made  for  each  other. 
She  will  die  if  she  does  not  marry  Bosio  soon." 

The  yellow  reflexion  danced  in  her  eyes,  as  she  fastened 
them  upon  her  brother-in-law's  face,  and  he  shuddered,  remem 
bering  what  she  had  said  before  the  Duca  had  come. 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  said  Macomer,  "  the  sooner  they  are 
married  the  better.  Save  her  life,  Bosio  !  Save  her  life  !  Do 
not  let  her  die  of  love  for  you  ! " 

He,  who  rarely  laughed,  laughed  now,  and  the  sound  was 
horrible  in  his  brother's  ears.  Then  he  suddenly  turned  away 
and  left  the  room,  still  drily  chuckling  to  himself.  It  was  quite 


II  TAQUISARA  25 

unconscious  and  an  effect  of  his  overwrought  and  long-con 
trolled  nerves. 

Matilde  and  Bosio  were  alone  again,  and  they  knew  that  he 
would  not  come  back.  Bosio  sank  into  his  chair  again,  and 
pressed  the  paims  of  his  hands  to  his  eyes,  resting  his  elbows 
on  his  knees. 

"  The  infamy  of  it ! "  he  groaned,  in  the  bitterness  of  his 
weak  misery. 

Matilde  stood  beside  him,  and  gently  stroked  his  hair  where 
it  was  streaked  with  grey.  He  moved  impatiently,  as  though  to 
shake  off  her  strong  hand. 

"  No,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  grew  as  soft  as  velvet.  "  It  is 
to  save  me — to  save  us  all." 

He  shook  her  off,  and  rose  to  his  feet  with  spasmodic  energy. 

"  I  cannot — I  will  not — never  ! "  he  cried,  walking  away 
from  her  with  irregular  steps. 

"  But  it  will  be  so  much  better — for  Veronica,  too,"  she  said, 
softly,  for  she  knew  how  to  frighten  him. 

He  turned  with  startled  eyes.  Then,  with  the  impulse  of  a 
man  escaping  from  something  which  he  is  not  strong  enough  to 
face,  he  reached  the  door  in  two  quick  strides,  and  went  out 
without  looking  back. 

Matilde  watched  the  door,  as  it  closed,  and  stood  still  a  few 
seconds  before  she  left  the  room.  Her  eyes  wandered  to  the 
clock,  and  she  saw  that  it  was  nearly  midnight. 

The  look  of  triumph  faded  slowly  from  her  face,  and  the 
brows  contracted  in  a  look  which  no  one  could  easily  have 
understood,  except  Bosio  himself,  perhaps,  had  he  still  been 
there.  The  smooth  lips  were  drawn  in  and  tightly  compressed; 
and  she  held  her  breath,  while  her  right  hand  strained  upon  her 
left  with  all  her  might.  Then  the  lips  parted  with  a  sort  of 
little  snap  as  she  drew  breath  again ;  and  she  turned  her  head 
suddenly,  and  looked  behind  her,  growing  a  trifle  paler,  as 
though  she  expected  to  see  something  startling. 

She  tried  to  smile,  and  roused  herself,  rang  the  bell  for  the 
servant  to  put  out  the  lights,  and  left  the  room.  It  was  long 
before  she  slept  that  night.  In  the  next  room  she  could  hear 
Gregorio's  slow  and  regular  footsteps,  as  he  walked  up  and 
down  without  ceasing.  In  his  own  room  upstairs,  Bosio 
Macomer  sat  staring  at  the  ashes  of  the  burnt-out  fire  on  his 
hearth.  Only  Veronica  was  asleep,  dreamless,  young,  and 
restful. 


26  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 


CHAPTER   III 

NAPLES,  more  than  any  other  city  of  Italy,  is  full  of  the  violent 
contrasts  which  belong  to  great  old  cities  everywhere,  and  the 
absence  of  which  makes  new  cities  dull,  be  they  as  well  built, 
as  well  situated,  as  civilized  and  as  beautiful  as  they  can  be 
made  by  art  handling  nature  for  the  greater  glory  of  modern 
humanity. 

In  Naples  there  is  a  fashionable  new  quarter,  swept,  watered, 
and  garnished  with  plants  and  trees,  but  many  of  the  great 
palaces  stand  in  old  and  narrow  streets,  rising  up,  grim  and 
solemn  and  proud,  out  of  the  recklessly  vital  life  of  one  of  the 
worst  populaces  in  the  world.  Fifty  paces  away,  again,  is  a 
wide  thoroughfare,  perhaps,  raging  and  roaring  with  traffic  from 
the  port.  A  hundred  yards  in  another  direction,  and  there  is  a 
clean,  deserted  court,  into  which  the  midday  sun  pours  itself  as 
into  a  reservoir  of  light, — a  court  with  a  quiet  church  and 
simple  old  houses,  through  the  doors  of  which  pale-faced  ecclesi 
astics  silently  come  and  go. 

Round  the  next  corner  leads  a  dark  lane,  between  hugely 
high  buildings  that  press  the  air  and  keep  out  the  sun  and  all 
sky  but  a  thin  ribband  of  blue.  And  the  air  is  heavy  with  all 
vile  things,  from  the  ill-washed  linen  that  hangs,  slowly  drying, 
from  the  upper  windows,  thrust  out  into  the  draught  with  sticks, 
to  the  rotting  garbage  in  the  gutters  below.  The  low-arched 
doors  open  directly  upon  the  slimy,  black  pavement;  and  in 
the  deep  shadows  within  sit  strange  figures  with  doughy  faces 
and  glassy  eyes,  breathing  in  the  stench  of  the  nauseous,  steamy 
air, — working  a  little,  perhaps,  at  some  one  of  the  shadowy, 
back-street  trades  of  a  great  city,  but  poisoned  to  death  from 
birth  by  the  air  they  live  in,  diseased  of  the  diseased,  from  very 
childhood,  and  prolific  as  disease  itself,  multiplying  to  fatten 
death  at  the  next  pestilence. 

And  then,  again,  a  vast  square,  gaudy  with  coloured  hand 
bills,  noisy  with  wheels  and  the  everlasting  Neapolitan  chattering 
of  a  thick-lipped,  loud,  degenerate  dialect.  There  the  little  one- 
horse  cabs  tear  hither  and  thither,  drivers  lashing  their  wretched 
beasts,  wheels  whirling,  arms  gesticulating,  bad  eyes  flashing 
and  leering,  thick  lips  chattering  everlastingly;  and  the  tram-cars 
roll  along,  crowded  till  the  people  cling  to  one  another  on  the 
steps  ;  and  the  small  boys  dodge  in  and  out  between  the  cars 


in  TAQUISARA  27 

and  the  carriages  and  the  horses  and  the  foot-passengers,  some 
screaming  out  papers  for  sale,  some  looking  for  pockets  to  pick, 
some  hunting  for  stumps  of  cigars  in  the  dust, — dirty,  ragged, 
joyous,  foul-mouthed,  God-forsaken  little  boys;  and  then  through 
the  midst  of  all,  as  a  black  swan  swimming  stately  through 
muddy  waters,  comes  a  splendid,  princely  equipage,  all  in 
mourning,  from  the  black  horses  to  the  heavy  veil  just  raised 
across  a  young  widow's  white  face — and  so,  from  contrast  to 
contrast,  through  the  dense  city,  and  down  to  the  teeming  port, 
and  out  at  last  to  the  magic  southern  sea,  where  the  clean  life 
of  the  white-sailed  ships  passes  silently,  and  scarce  leaves  a 
momentary  wake  to  mar  the  pure  waters  of  the  tideless 
bay. 

But  there  is  life  everywhere, — reckless,  excessive,  and  the 
desire  for  life  as  a  supreme  good,  worth  living  for  its  own  sake 
— even  if  it  is  to  be  food  for  the  next  year's  pestilence — a  life 
that  can  support  itself  on  anything,  and  thrive  in  its  own  fashion 
in  the  flashing  sun,  and  the  dust  and  the  dirt,  and  multiply 
beyond  measure  and  mysteriously  fast.  Only  here  and  there  in 
the  swarm  something  permanent  and  fossilized  stands  solid  and 
unchanging,  and  divides  the  flight  of  the  myriad  ephemeral 
lives — a  monument,  a  church,  a  fortress,  a  palace  :  or,  perhaps, 
the  figure  of  some  man  of  sterner  race,  with  grave  eyes  and 
strong,  thin  lips,  and  manly  carriage,  looms  in  the  crowd,  and 
by  its  mere  presence  seems  to  send  all  the  rest  down  a  step  to 
a  lower  level  of  humanity. 

Such  a  man  was  Taquisara,  the  Sicilian,  of  whom  the  old 
Duca  della  Spina  had  spoken.  He  had  no  permanent  abode 
in  Naples,  but  lived  in  a  hotel  down  by  the  public  gardens, 
beyond  Santa  Lucia;  and  on  the  day  after  the  Duca  had  been 
to  see  the  Countess  Macomer,  he  strolled  up  as  usual,  by  short 
cuts  and  narrow  streets,  to  see  his  friend  Gianluca  in  the  Spina 
palace,  in  the  upper  part  of  the  city.  Many  people  looked  at 
him,  as  he  went  by,  and  some  knew  him  for  a  Sicilian,  by  his 
face,  while  some  took  him  for  a  foreigner,  and  pressed  upon 
him  to  beg,  or  made  faces  and  vile  gestures  at  him,  as  soon  as 
he  could  not  see,  after  the  manner  of  the  lower  Neapolitans. 
But  he  passed  calmly  on,  supremely  indifferent,  his  handsome, 
manly  face  turning  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left. 

He  might  have  stood  for  the  portrait  of  a  Saracen  warrior  of 
the  eleventh  century,  with  his  high,  dark  features  and  keen  eyes, 
his  even  lips,  square  jaw,  and  smooth,  tough  throat.  He  had, 


28  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

too,  something  of  the  Arabian  dignity  in  his  bearing,  and  he 
walked  with  long,  well-balanced  steps,  swiftly,  but  without  haste, 
as  the  Arab  walks  barefooted  in  the  sand,  not  even  suspecting 
that  weariness  can  ever  come  upon  him ;  erect,  proud,  without 
self-consciousness,  elastic;  collected  and  ever  ready,  in  his  easy 
and  effortless  movement,  for  sudden  and  violent  action.  He  was 
not  pale,  as  dark  Italians  are,  but  his  skin  had  the  colour  and 
look  of  fresh  light  bronze,  just  chiselled,  and  able  to  reflect  the 
sun,  while  having  a  light  of  its  own  from  the  strong  blood  be 
neath.  That  was  the  reason  why  the  Neapolitans  who  did  not 
chance  to  have  seen  Sicilians  often,  took  him  for  a  foreigner 
and  got  into  his  way,  holding  out  their  hands  to  beg,  and  making 
ape-like  grimaces  at  him  behind  his  back.  But  those  who  knew 
the  type  of  his  race  and  recognized  it,  did  nothing  of  that  sort. 
On  the  contrary,  they  were  careful  not  to  molest  him. 

The  friend  whom  he  sought,  high  up  in  the  city,  in  a  luxuri 
ous,  sunlit  room  overlooking  the  harbour  and  the  wide  bay, 
was  as  unlike  him  as  one  man  could  be  unlike  another — white, 
fair-haired,  delicate,  with  soft  blue  eyes  and  silken  lashes,  and 
a  passive  hand  that  accepted  the  pressure  of  Taquisara's  rather 
than  returned  it — the  pale  survivor  of  another  once  conquering 
race. 

Gianluca  was  evidently  ill  and  weak,  though  few  physicians 
could  have  defined  the  cause  of  his  weakness.  He  moved 
easily  enough  when  he  rose  to  greet  his  friend,  but  there  was  a 
mortal  languor  about  him,  and  an  evident  reluctance  to  move 
again  when  he  had  resumed  his  seat  in  the  sun.  He  was 
muffled  in  a  thickly  wadded  silk  coat  of  a  dark  colour.  His 
fair,  straight  hair  was  brushed  away  from  his  thin,  bluish 
temples,  and  the  golden  young  beard  could  not  conceal  the 
emaciation  of  his  throat  when  his  head  leaned  against  the 
back  of  his  easy-chair. 

Taquisara  sat  down  and  looked  at  him,  lighted  a  black  cigar 
and  looked  again,  got  up,  stirred  the  fire  and  then  went  to  the 
windcw. 

"  You  are  worse  to-day,"  he  said,  looking  out.  "  What  has 
happened  ?  "  He  turned  again,  for  the  answer. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  said  Gianluca.  "  My  father  was  there  last 
night.  She  is  betrothed  to  Bosio  Macomer." 

His  voice  sank  low,  and  his  head  fell  forward  a  little,  so  that 
his  chin  rested  upon  his  folded  hands.  Taquisara  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  surprise,  and  bit  the  end  of  his  cigar. 


Ill  TAQUISARA  29 

"She?  To  marry  Bosio  Macomer?  No — no — I  do  not 
believe  it." 

"Ask  my  father,"  said  Gianluca,  without  raising  his  eyes. 
"  Bosio  was  there,  in  the  room,  when  they  told  my  father  the 
news." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Taquisara,  beginning  to  walk  up  and 
down.  "No  doubt,"  he  repeated.  "But—"  He  lit  his 
cigar  instead  of  finishing  the  sentence,  but  his  eyes  were 
thoughtful. 

"  But— what  ?  "  asked  his  friend,  dejectedly.  "  If  it  had  not 
been  true,  they  would  not  have  said  it.  It  is  all  over." 

"  Life,  you  mean  ?  I  doubt  that.  Nothing  is  over,  for  noth 
ing  is  done.  They  are  not  married  yet,  are  they  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not ! " 

"  Then  they  may  never  marry." 

"  Who  can  prevent  it  ?  You  ?  I  ?  My  father  ?  It  is  over, 
I  tell  you.  There  is  no  hope.  I  will  see  her  once  more,  and 
then  I  shall  die.  But  I  must  see  her  once  more.  You  must 
help  me  to  see  her." 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Taquisara.  "  But  what  strange 
people  you  are  ! "  he  exclaimed,  after  a  moment's  pause. 
"  Who  can  understand  you  ?  You  are  dying  for  love  of  her. 
That  is  curious,  in  the  first  place.  I  understand  killing  for 
love,  but  not  dying  oneself,  just  by  folding  one's  hands  and 
looking  at  the  stars  and  repeating  her  name.  Then,  you  do 
nothing.  You  do  not  say,  '  She  shall  not  marry  Macomer, 
because  I,  I  who  speak,  will  prevent  it,  and  get  her  for  myself.' 
No.  Because  some  one  has  said  that  she  will  marry  him,  you 
feel  sure  that  she  will,  and  that  ends  the  question.  For  the 
word  of  a  man  or  a  woman,  all  is  to  be  finished.  You  are  all 
contemplation,  no  action — all  heart,  no  hands — all  love,  no 
anger !  You  deserve  to  die  for  love.  I  am  sorry  that  I  like 
you." 

"  You  always  talk  in  that  way ! "  said  Gianluca,  with  a 
wearily  sad  intonation.  "  I  suppose  that  life  is  different  in 
Sicily." 

"  Life  is  life,  everywhere,"  returned  the  Sicilian.  "  If  I  love 
a  woman,  it  is  not  for  the  pleasure  of  loving  her,  nor  for  the 
glory  of  having  it  written  on  my  tombstone  that  I  have  died 
for  her.  It  is  better  that  some  one  else  should  die  and  that 
I  should  have  what  I  want.  How  does  that  seem  to  you  ?  Is 
it  not  logic?  It  is  true  that  I  have  never  loved  any  woman 


3o  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

in  that  way.     But  then,  I  am  young,  though  I  am  older  than 
you  are." 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  The  pale  young  man  smiled  sadly  and 
shook  his  head.  "You  do  not  understand  our  society.  I 
cannot  even  see  her  except  at  a  distance,  unless  they  choose  to 
permit  it.  I  cannot  write  love  letters  to  her,  can  I  ?  In  our 
world  one  cannot  do  such  things,  and  it  would  be  of  no  use 
if  I  could—" 

"  I  would,"  said  Taquisara.  "  I  would  write.  I  would  see 
her — I  would  empty  hell  and  drag  Satan  out  by  the  hair  to 
help  me,  if  the  saints  would  not.  But  you  !  You  sit  still  and 
die  of  love.  And  when  you  are  dead,  what  will  you  have  ?  A 
fine  tomb  out  in  the  country,  and  lights,  and  crowns,  and 
some  masses — but  you  will  not  get  the  woman  you  love.  It  is 
not  love  that  consumes  you.  It  is  imagination.  You  imagine 
that  you  are  going  to  die,  and  unless  you  recover  from  this, 
you  probably  will.  With  your  temperament,  the  best  thing 
you  can  do  is  to  come  with  me  to  Sicily  and  forget  all  about 
Donna  Veronica  Serra.  No  woman  would  ever  look  at  a  man 
who  loves  as  you  do.  She  might  pity  you  enough  to  marry 
you,  if  no  one  else  presented  himself  just  then ;  but  when  she 
was  tired  of  pitying  you  she  would  love  some  one  else.  It  is 
not  life  to  be  always  pitying.  That  is  the  business  of  saints 
and  nuns — not  of  men  and  women." 

Gianluca  was  hurt  by  his  friend's  tone. 

"  You  admit  that  you  never  were  in  love,"  he  said ;  "  how 
can  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  That  is  just  it !  I  do  not  understand  you.  But  if  I  were 
you,  I  would  take  matters  into  my  own  hands.  I  will  wager 
anything  you  please  that  Donna  Veronica  has  never  so  much 
as  heard  that  you  wish  to  marry  her — " 

"  But  they  have  told  her,  of  course  ?  "  interrupted  Gianluca. 
"  They  have  asked  her — " 

"Who  told  you  so?"  inquired  Taquisara,  incredulously. 
"And  if  any  one  has  told  you,  why  should  you  believe  it? 
There  are  several  millions  on  the  one  side,  which  Macomer 
wishes  to  possess,  and  there  can  be  nothing  on  the  other  but 
the  word  of  one  of  the  interested  persons.  You  have  met  her 
in  the  world  and  exchanged  a  few  words — that  has  been  all — " 

"  I  have  spoken  with  her  five  times,"  said  Gianluca,  thought 
fully. 

"  Have  you  counted  ?  "     Taquisara  smiled.     "  Very  good — 


in  TAQUISARA  31 

five  times — seventeen,  if  you  like — you,  sitting  on  the  edge  of 
your  chair  and  opening  your  eyes  wide  to  see  her  profile  while 
she  was  looking  at  her  aunt — you,  saying  it  was  a  fine  day,  or 
that  Tamagno  was  a  great  singer;  and  she,  saying  'yes'  to 
everything.  And  you  love  her.  Well,  no  doubt.  I  could 
love  a  woman  with  whom  I  might  never  have  spoken  at  all 
— surely — and  why  not  ?  But  you  take  it  for  granted  that  she 
knows  you  love  her  and  expects  you  to  ask  for  her,  and  has 
been  told  that  you  have  done  so  and  has  herself  dictated  the 
refusal.  You  are  credulous  and  despondent,  and  you  are  not 
strong.  Besides,  you  sit  here  all  day  long,  brooding  and  doing 
nothing  but  expecting  to  die,  and  hoping  that  she  will  shed  a 
tear  when  she  hears  of  your  untimely  end.  Is  that  what  you 
call  making  love  in  Naples  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  can  do  nothing." 

"  It  does  not  follow  that  there  is  nothing  to  be  done." 

"What  is  there,  for  instance?" 

"  Go  to  the  Palazzo  Macomer  and  find  out  the  truth  your 
self.  Write  to  her — take  your  place  before  the  door  and 
stand  there  day  and  night  until  she  sees  you  and  notices 
you."  Taquisara  laughed.  "Do  anything — but  do  not  sit 
here  waiting  to  die  in  cotton  wool  with  your  feet  to  the 
fire  and  your  head  in  the  clouds." 

"All  that  is  absurd!"  answered  Gianluca,  petulantly. 

"  Is  it  absurd?  Then  I  will  begin  by  doing  it  for  you,  and 
see  what  happens." 

"You?"     The  younger  man  turned  in  surprise. 

"  I.  Yes.  All  the  more,  as  I  have  nothing  to  lose,  I  will 
go  and  find  Bosio  Macomer  and  talk  with  him — " 

"You  will  insult  him,"  said  Gianluca,  anxiously.  "There 
will  be  a  quarrel — I  know  you — and  a  quarrel  about  her." 

"Why  should  we  quarrel?"  asked  Taquisara.  "I  will  con 
gratulate  him  on  his  betrothal.  I  know  him  well  enough  for 
that,  and  in  the  course  of  conversation  something  may  appear 
which  we  do  not  know.  Besides,  if  I  go  to  the  house,  I  may 
possibly  meet  Donna  Veronica;  if  I  do,  I  shall  soon  know 
everything,  for  I  will  speak  to  her  of  you.  I  know  her." 

"  One  sees  that  you  are  not  a  Neapolitan,"  said  Gianluca, 
smiling  faintly. 

"No,"  answered  the  other,  "I  am  not."  And  he  laughed 
with  a  sort  of  quiet  consciousness  of  strength  which  his  friend 
secretly  envied.  "It  is  true,"  he  added,  " that  things  look  easy 


32  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

to  me  here,  which  would  be  utterly  impossible  in  Palermo.  We 
are  different  with  our  women — and  we  are  different  when  we 
love.  Thank  Heaven,  for  the  present — I  am  as  I  am." 

He  smiled  and  relit  his  cigar,  which  had  gone  out. 

"No,"  said  Gianluca.  "You  have  never  been  in  love,  I 
think." 

His  fair  young  head  leaned  back  wearily  against  the  chair, 
and  his  eyes  were  half  closed  as  he  spoke. 

"  Nor  ever  shall  be,  in  your  way,  my  friend,"  answered  the 
Sicilian,  rising  from  his  seat.  "  I  suppose  it  is  because  we  are 
so  different  that  we  have  always  been  such  good  friends.  But 
then — one  need  not  look  for  reasons.  It  is  enough  that  it 
is  so." 

Again  he  took  the  delicate,  thin  hand  in  his  and  pressed  it, 
and  went  away,  much  more  anxious  about  Gianluca  than  he 
was  willing  to  show.  For  though  he  had  suspected  much  of 
what  he  now  saw,  as  a  possibility,  it  was  a  phase  too  new  and 
startling  not  to  trouble  him  greatly.  It  will  readily  be  con 
ceived  that  if  Gianluca  had  always  been  the  weak  and  dejected 
and  despairing  individual  from  whom  Taquisara  parted  that 
morning,  there  could  never  have  been  much  friendship  between 
the  two.  But  Gianluca,  not  in  love,  had  been  a  very  different 
person.  With  an  extremely  delicate  organization  and  a  very 
sensitive  nature,  he  was  naturally  of  a  gay  and  sunny  temper. 
The  two  had  done  voluntary  military  service  in  the  same  regi 
ment  during  more  than  a  year,  and  their  rank,  together  with 
the  fact  that  they  were  both  from  the  south,  had  in  the  first 
place  drawn  them  together.  Before  long  they  had  become  firm 
friends.  In  his  normal  condition  Gianluca,  though  never 
strong,  was  brave,  frank,  and  cheerful.  Taquisara  thought  him 
at  times  poetic  and  visionary,  but  liked  the  impossible  loftiness 
of  his  young  ideals,  because  Taquisara  himself  was  naturally 
attracted  by  all  that  looked  impossible.  Amongst  a  number  of 
rather  gay  and  thoughtless  young  men,  who  jested  at  every 
thing,  Gianluca  adhered  to  his  faith  openly,  and  no  one  thought 
of  laughing  at  him.  He  must  have  possessed  something  of 
that  wonderful  simplicity,  together  with  much  of  the  extra 
ordinary  tact,  which  helped  some  of  the  early  saints  to  be  what 
they  were — the  saints  who  were  beloved  rather  than  those  who 
were  persecuted.  Not,  indeed,  that  his  conduct  was  always 
saintly,  by  any  means,  nor  his  life  without  reproach.  But  in 
an  existence  which  ruins  many  young  men  forever  he  preserved 


in  TAQUISARA  33 

an  absolutely  unaffected  admiration  for  everything  good  and 
high  and  true,  and  had  the  rare  power  of  asserting  the  fact,  now 
and  then,  without  being  offensive  to  others.  Taquisara  had  no 
desire  to  imitate  him,  but  was  nevertheless  very  strongly 
attracted  by  him,  and  if  Gianluca  had  ever  needed  a  defender, 
the  Sicilian  would  have  silenced  his  enemies  at  the  risk  of  his 
own  life.  Gianluca,  however,  was  universally  liked,  and  had 
never  been  in  need  of  any  such  old-fashioned  assistance. 

Since  he  had  been  in  love  with  Veronica  Serra,  he  was  com 
pletely  changed,  and  it  was  no  wonder  that  his  friend  was 
anxious  about  him.  Taquisara,  like  most  men  of  perfectly 
healthy  mind  and  body,  would  have  found  it  hard  to  believe 
that  Gianluca  was  merely  lovesick,  and  was  literally  '  consuming 
himself,'  even  to  the  point  of  death,  in  an  unrequited  passion. 
It  was  certainly  true,  however,  that  he  had  lost  strength  rapidly 
and  without  the  influence  of  any  illness  which  could  be  defined, 
ever  since  the  negotiations  for  Veronica's  hand  had  shown  signs 
of  coming  to  an  unsatisfactory  conclusion.  And  they  had 
lasted  long.  Many  letters  had  been  exchanged.  The  old  Duca 
had  been  several  times  to  the  Palazzo  Macomer,  and  the  count 
and  countess  had  found  many  reasons  by  which  to  put  off  their 
decision.  For  Gianluca  was  a  good  match,  and  altogether  an 
exceedingly  desirable  young  man,  and  the  countess  had  always 
thought  that  if  she  could  not  marry  Veronica  to  Bosio,  it  might 
be  wisest  to  accept  Gianluca.  He  was  always  in  delicate 
health,  Matilde  reflected,  and  he  might  possibly  die  and  leave 
his  wife  still  absolute  mistress  of  her  fortune,  if  the  marriage 
contract  were  cleverly  framed  with  a  view  to  that  contingency. 

But  the  young  man  himself  had  been  diffident  from  the 
beginning,  and  at  the  first  hesitation  on  the  other  side  he  had 
taken  it  for  granted  that  all  was  lost.  His  slight  vitality  sank 
instantly  under  the  disappointment ;  he  refused  to  eat,  he  could 
not  sleep,  and  he  was  in  a  really  dangerous  state  before  ten 
days  had  passed.  Then  he  had  sent  for  Taquisara,  who  visited 
him  daily  for  nearly  a  week,  encouraging  him  in  every  way,  until 
to-day,  when  the  news  of  the  refusal  was  no  more  to  be  denied. 
It  was  characteristic  of  the  Sicilian  that  he  at  once  attempted  to 
interfere  with  destiny  in  favour  of  his  friend.  He  was  not  a 
man  to  lose  time  when  time  was  precious.  His  ardent  temper 
loved  difficulties,  even  when  they  were  not  his  own.  Bold, 
untiring,  discreet,  and  loyal,  if  there  were  anything  to  be  done 
in  Gianluca's  case,  he  was  the  man  to  do  it. 

c 


34  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Bosio  Macomer  was  somewhat  surprised  that  morning,  when 
his  old  servant  informed  him  that  Taquisara  was  at  the  door. 
He  knew  him  but  slightly  in  the  way  of  acquaintance,  though 
very  well  by  name  and  reputation,  and  he  wondered  what  had 
brought  him  at  that  hour.  He  was  inclined  to  say  that  he 
could  not  receive  him,  offering  as  an  excuse  that  he  was  ill, 
which  was  almost  true.  But  he  reflected  that  such  a  man  must 
have  a  good  reason  for  wishing  to  see  him.  He  remembered, 
too,  that  the  Duca  had  spoken  of  him  as  Gianluca's  friend,  and 
in  the  terrible  position-  in  which  Bosio  himself  was  placed,  it 
seemed  to  him  possible  that  one  of  Gianluca's  friends  might 
help  him, — how,  he  had  not  the  power  of  concentrating  his 
mind  enough  to  guess, — and  he  ordered  the  servant  to  admit 
him. 

Bosio  had  not  slept  that  night.  He  had  spent  the  six  hours 
between  midnight  and  the  December  dawn  in  his  easy-chair 
before  the  fireplace.  Once  or  twice,  towards  morning,  he  had 
felt  sleep  creeping  upon  him  through  sheer  physical  exhaustion, 
but  he  had  fought  it  off,  afraid  to  lose  one  of  the  precious 
moments  which  he  still  had  before  him  in  which  to  think  over 
what  he  should  do.  They  were  few  enough  for  a  man  of  his 
nature. 

He  knew  the  absolute  truth  of  all  that  Matilde  had  told  him, 
and  he  had  even  suspected  much  of  it  before  she  had  first 
spoken.  He  knew  that  his  brother  had  secretly  ruined  himself 
in  financial  speculations,  in  which  he  had  employed  Lamberto 
Squarci  as  his  agent,  and  that,  with  Squarci's  assistance,  Gregorio 
had  staved  off  the  consequences  of  his  actions  by  a  fraudulent 
use  of  Veronica's  fortune, — of  such  part  of  it  as  he  could  con 
trol,  of  course, — absorbing  much  of  the  enormous  income,  and 
even,  from  time  to  time,  obtaining  the  consent  of  Cardinal 
Campodonico  for  the  sale  of  certain  lands,  on  pretence  of 
making  more  profitable  investments.  During  fully  ten  years, 
Gregorio's  management  of  the  estate  must  have  been  a  system 
atic  fraud  upon  Veronica  Serra,  carried  on  with  sufficient  skill 
to  evade  all  inquiry  from  the  cardinal.  Gregorio's  fictitious 
reputation  as  a  strictly  honourable  man  had  helped  him,  together 
with  the  fact  that  his  wife  was  the  ward's  own  aunt,  which  was 
a  strong  presumption  in  favour  of  her  honesty  as  a  guardian. 
Then,  too,  it  was  generally  believed  that  Macomer  was  a  miser, 
and  much  richer  than  he  allowed  any  one  to  suppose.  As  for 
the  accounts  of  the  estate,  they  could  bear  inspection,  as  Matilde 


ill  TAQUISARA  35 

had  said,  provided  that  no  attempt  were  made  to  verify  the 
existence  of  all  the  property  therein  described. 

The  worst  of  the  case  was  that  Squarci  had  been  an  accom 
plice  from  the  beginning,  and  had  doubtless  enriched  himself 
while  Macomer  had  lost  everything.  In  the  event  of  a  suit 
brought  by  the  ward  against  the  guardians,  it  would  be  in 
Squarci's  power  to  turn  evidence  in  favour  of  Veronica,  and 
expose  the  whole  enormous  theft ;  and  it  would  be  like  him  to 
keep  on  the  side  of  wealth  against  ruin.  For  Veronica  was  still 
very  rich,  in  spite  of  all  that  had  been  stolen. 

There  could  be  little  doubt  but  that,  in  the  event  of  an 
action,  Gregorio  and  Matilde  Macomer  would  be  condemned 
to  penal  servitude,  as  the  countess  herself  anticipated.  It  was 
equally  certain  that  if  Veronica  married  any  one  but  Bosio,  her 
husband  and  his  family  would  demand  that  the  accounts  of  the 
estate  should  be  formally  audited  and  the  property  scheduled; 
this  must  ultimately  lead  to  the  dreaded  prosecution,  which 
could  have  no  possible  conclusion  but  conviction  and  infamy. 

Whatever  Bosio's  true  relations  with  Matilde  had  been  in  the 
course  of  the  last  ten  years,  he  had  at  least  loved  her  faithfully, 
with  the  complete  devotion  of  a  man  who  not  only  loves  a 
woman,  but  is  morally  dominated  by  her  in  all  the  circum 
stances  of  life.  He  had  not  the  character  which  seeks  ideals, 
and  he  asked  for  none. 

Matilde's  beauty  and  conversation  had  sufficed  him,  for  in 
his  opinion  he  had  never  known  any  one  to  be  compared  with 
her ;  and  on  her  side  she  had  been  strong  enough  to  make  a 
slave  of  him  from  the  first.  To  the  extent  of  his  weak  character 
and  considerable  physical  courage,  there  was  no  sacrifice  which 
Bosio  would  not  have  been  ready  to  make  for  her,  and  few 
dangers  which  he  would  not  at  least  have  attempted  to  face  for 
her  sake. 

But  where  all  moral  sense  of  right  and  all  natural  action  of 
conscience  were  gone,  there  remained  in  the  man  an  inheritance 
of  traditional  feeling,  which  even  Matilde's  influence  could  not 
make  him  wittingly  violate  any  further, — a  remnant  of  honour, 
a  thread,  as  it  were,  by  which  his  soul  was  still  held  above  the 
level  of  total  destruction.  There  was  nothing,  perhaps,  in 
volving  himself  alone,  which  he  would  have  refused  to  do  for 
Matilde's  sake,  under  the  pressure  of  her  strong  will.  But 
what  she  required  of  him  now  was  more  than  that,  and  worse. 
After  a  night  of  thought,  he  still  felt  that  he  could  not  do  it. 


36  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Of  course,  there  was  the  possibility  that  Veronica  herself 
might  absolutely  refuse  to  marry  him,  and  thus  save  his  weak 
ness  from  the  necessity  of  trying  to  be  strong.  But  Bosio 
thought  this  improbable.  The  fatherless  and  motherless  girl 
had  been  purposely  kept  from  all  outside  influences  by  Gregorio 
and  Matilde,  in  order  that  they  might  control  her  disposition 
for  their  own  interests.  She  had  been  taught  to  expect  that  in 
due  time  they  would  select  a  husband  for  her  from  the  men 
who  might  offer  themselves,  and  that  it  would  be  more  or  less 
her  duty  to  accept  their  decision,  as  being  really  the  best  for 
her  own  happiness.  They  had  hindered  her  from  forming 
friendships  with  girls  of  her  own  age,  and  altogether  from 
acquaintanceship  with  young  married  women,  excepting  Bianca 
Corleone,  who  had  been  her  friend  in  the  convent.  In  society, 
when  she  went  with  them,  men  were  introduced  to  her  very 
rarely.  Bosio  had  been  present  once  or  twice  on  such  occa 
sions,  and  he  remembered  having  seen  her  with  Gianluca.  It 
had  been  very  much  as  Taquisara  had  described  it  to  Gianluca 
himself — a  mere  exchange  of  a  few  words,  while  the  girl 
watched  her  aunt  almost  all  the  time  with  a  sort  of  childish 
fear  of  doing  something  not  quite  right.  Veronica  could  not 
be  said  to  know  any  man  to  the  extent  of  exchanging  ideas 
with  him,  except  her  uncle  and  Bosio  himself.  And  she  liked 
Bosio  very  much.  It  was  not  at  all  improbable,  considering  all 
the  circumstances,  that  she  might  be  delighted  with  the  idea  of 
marrying  him,  merely  because  she  liked  him,  and  he  was 
familiar  in  her  daily  life.  Bosio  knew  that  Matilde  would 
speak  to  her  about  it  at  once ;  and  when  he  tried  to  think  what 
he  should  do  if  Veronica  readily  accepted  the  proposition,  the 
pain  in  his  head  grew  intolerable,  and  he  found  it  impossible  to 
think  connectedly.  The  horrible  dishonour  of  it  stared  him  in 
the  face — and  beyond  the  dishonour,  still  more  fearfully  im 
posing,  rose  the  vision  of  sure  disgrace  and  infamy  for  the 
woman  he  loved,  if  he  himself  refused  to  do  this  vile  deed. 

He  looked  ill,  worn  out  with  mental  distress  and  physical 
exhaustion,  when  Taquisara  entered  the  room,  and  the  servant 
closed  the  door.  The  Sicilian  came  forward,  and  Bosio  rose 
to  meet  him,  still  wondering  why  he  had  come,  but  far  too 
much  disturbed  by  his  own  troubles  to  care.  Nevertheless,  he 
supposed  that  the  matter  must  be  of  some  importance.  Taqui 
sara  was  surprised  by  his  appearance,  for  he  was  evidently 
suffering. 


Ill  TAQUISARA  37 

"  I  ought  almost  to  ask  you  to  excuse  me  for  having  received 
you,  in  my  condition,"  said  Bosio,  politely.  "  I  have  a  violent 
headache.  But  I  am  wholly  at  your  service.  In  what  can  I 
be  of  use  to  you  ?  " 

Taquisara  found  himself  in  an  awkward  position.  He  had 
expected  to  find  Bosio  Macomer  radiant  and  ready  to  be 
congratulated  by  any  one  who  chose  to  knock  at  his  door. 
Instead,  he  found  a  man  apparently  both  ill  and  distressed. 
He  hesitated  a  moment,  for  he  knew  Bosio  but  slightly,  after  all. 

"I  do  not  know  whether  you  will  think  it  strange  that  I 
should  come,"  he  said,  and  his  square  face  grew  more  square 
as  he  looked  straight  at  Bosio.  "  I  am  Gianluca  della  Spina's 
best  friend." 

"  Ah  !  Yes — I  think  I  have  heard  so,"  answered  Bosio,  not 
startled,  but  considerably  disturbed,  as  his  gentle  eyes  met 
Taquisara's  bold  glance. 

"  I  have  come,  as  a  friend,  to  ask  whether  it  is  really  true 
that  you  are  to  marry  Donna  Veronica  Serra,"  continued 
Taquisara,  feeling  that  after  all  he  might  as  well  go  straight  to 
the  point. 

Bosio  straightened  himself  a  little  in  his  chair,  and  there  was 
a  look  of  surprise  in  his  face.  But  he  hesitated  an  instant,  in 
his  turn. 

"  That  was  the  answer  which  my  brother  and  his  wife  gave 
to  the  Duca  della  Spina,"  he  replied,  coldly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Taquisara.  "  I  know  it  was.  That  is  the  reason 
why  I  have  come  to  you,  directly,  as  Gianluca's  friend." 

"Does  Don  Gianluca  propose  to  call  me  out,  because  he 
cannot  marry  Donna  Veronica  ?  "  asked  Bosio,  in  surprise,  and 
in  a  tone  which  showed  that  he  was  already  offended. 

"No.  He  is  very  ill,  and  in  no  condition  for  that  sort  of 
amusement." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Bosio,  with  cold  civility.  "  But 
you  come  to  represent  him,  in  some  way.  Do  I  under 
stand?" 

"  He  is  ill — of  love,  as  they  say."  Taquisara  smiled  at  the 
idea,  in  spite  of  himself.  "  It  is  serious,  at  all  events — so 
serious,  that  I  have  come  in  person  to  ask  whether  it  is  really 
true  that  you  are  betrothed  to  Donna  Veronica,  in  order  that  I 
may  take  him  the  truth  as  I  hear  it  from  your  lips.  I  daresay 
you  think  me  indiscreet,  Count  Macomer,  for  I  am  only  slightly 
acquainted  with  you.  But  I  am  sincerely  devoted  to  Gianluca, 


38  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

and  if  you  were  a  total  stranger  to  me,  I  should  come  to  you  as 
I  have  come  now." 

"  And  if  I  refuse  to  answer  your  question,  Baron  Taquisara 
— what  then  ?  " 

"As  the  answer — yes  or  no — cannot  possibly  involve  any 
thing  in  the  slightest  degree  indelicate,  I  shall  of  course  infer 
that  you  have  no  answer  to  give,  and  that  the  matter  is  not  yet 
really  settled." 

Bosio's  eyebrows  contracted  spasmodically,  and  his  white 
hand  stroked  his  silky  beard,  while  his  eyes  turned  quickly  from 
his  guest  and  looked  down  at  the  carpet.  In  two  passes,  as 
though  they  had  been  fencing  together,  this  singularly  direct 
man  had  thrust  him  to  the  wall,  and  was  forcing  him  to  make 
a  decision.  Of  course  it  was  still  in  his  power  to  answer  in  one 
way  or  the  other,  though  he  was  yet  undecided.  But  he  honestly 
could  not  bring  himself  to  say  that  he  would  marry  Veronica, 
and  yet,  if  he  denied  that  he  was  betrothed  to  her,  he  must  put 
his  brother  and  Matilde  in  the  position  of  having  told  a  delib 
erate  lie  to  Gianluca's  father.  He  felt  that  he  was  growing 
confused,  and  that  his  hesitation  and  confusion  were  every 
moment  making  it  clearer  to  Taquisara  that  the  betrothal  was 
by  no  means  as  yet  a  fact.  He  tried  to  temporize. 

"  It  depends  upon  what  you  understand  by  an  engagement," 
he  said.  "  With  us,  here  in  Naples,  the  betrothal  means  the 
signing  of  the  marriage  contract.  Now,  the  contract  has  not 
even  been  discussed.  I  think  that  my  brother's  announcement 
was  premature,  though  it  was  perhaps  justifiable,  as  he  wished  to 
discourage  any  false  expectations  on  the  part  of  Don  Gianluca." 

"I  am  not  a  diplomatist,"  answered  the  Sicilian.  "The 
statement  was  categorical — that  you  were  betrothed  to  Donna 
Veronica.  For  the  sake  of  my  friend,  I  am  indiscreet  enough 
to  wish  to  hear  the  confirmation  of  the  statement  from  your  own 
lips,  without  in  the  least  questioning  the  right  of  the  Count 
Macomer  to  make  it  last  night.  Gianluca  is  honestly  and  very 
deeply  in  love.  The  happiness  of  his  whole  life  is  involved. 
With  his  delicate  constitution  and  sensitive  temper,  I  believe 
that  his  life  itself  is  in  danger.  You  will  be  doing  him  an 
honourable  kindness  in  letting  him  know  the  truth,  through  me." 

"  I  will,"  said  Bosio,  absently,  "  I  will — as  soon  as —  He 
checked  himself  and  glanced  nervously  at  Taquisara. 

"As  soon  as  you  yourself  have  decided,"  said  the  latter, 
quietly.  "I  think  I  understand.  Your  brother  and  the  countess 


Ill  TAQUISARA  39 

feel  quite  sure  of  the  fact,  as  though  it  had  already  taken 
place,  but  for  some  reason  which  does  not  concern  me,  you 
yourself  are  not  so  certain  of  the  result.  To  be  plain,  there  is 
still  a  possibility  that  the  marriage  may  not  take  place.  I  need 
not  tell  you  that  in  speaking  to  Gianluca  I  shall  be  very  careful 
not  to  raise  any  false  hopes  in  his  mind.  But  I  am  exceedingly 
indebted  to  you  for  being  so  honourably  frank  with  me." 

Taquisara  repressed  a  smile  at  his  own  words  as  he  rose  from 
his  seat,  for  he  was  very  far  from  wishing  to  offend  Bosio.  The 
latter  rose,  too,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  dazed,  uncertain  ex 
pression,  like  a  man  not  quite  sure  of  being  in  his  senses.  He 
put  out  his  hand  mechanically,  without  speaking,  and  a  moment 
later  he  was  alone  with  the  horror  of  his  desperate  difficulty. 

The  Sicilian  descended  the  stairs  slowly,  and  paused  to  look 
out  of  one  of  the  big  windows  at  a  landing,  which  offered  nothing 
in  the  way  of  a  view  but  an  almost  blank  wall  on  the  other  side 
of  the  narrow  street.  He  did  not  know  what  to  do  next,  and 
yet,  being  eminently  a  man  of  action,  rather  than  of  reflexion, 
he  knew  that  he  must  do  more  to  satisfy  himself,  for  his  sus 
picions  were  aroused.  He  had  expected  to  find  Bosio  jubilant. 
From  what  he  had  seen,  he  had  understood  well  enough  that 
there  was  some  mysterious  trouble.  He  could  not  hope  to 
extort  any  information  from  Macomer  or  his  wife,  and  he  had 
no  means  of  reaching  Veronica,  nor  could  he  have  asked  direct 
questions  if  he  had  succeeded  in  seeing  her. 

Suddenly,  he  thought  of  the  young  Princess  Corleone,  whom 
he  knew  tolerably  well,  Corleone  being  a  Sicilian  like  himself. 
She  was  Veronica's  only  intimate  friend.  She  was  the  niece  of 
Cardinal  Campodonico,  one  of  Veronica's  guardians.  If  any 
one  knew  the  truth,  she  might  be  expected  to  know  it. 

Taquisara  looked  at  his  watch,  lit  a  cigar,  and  left  the  gloomy 
Palazzo  Macomer,  glad  to  be  outside  and  to  turn  his  face  to 
the  sunshine,  and  his  back  upon  all  the  wickedness  of  which  its 
old  walls  kept  the  secret. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  villas  along  the  shore  towards  Posilippo  face  the  sun  all 
day  in  winter,  for  they  look  due  south  from  the  water's  edge, 
and  their  marble  steps  lead  down  into  the  tideless  sea,  as 


40  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

though  it  were  a  landlocked  lagoon  or  a  Swiss  lake.  In 
winter  the  roses  blossom  amongst  the  laurels,  and  before  the 
rose  leaves  are  all  fallen  the  violets  peep  out  in  the  borders ; 
the  broad,  fan-like  palms  stand  unsheltered  in  the  south  wind, 
and  the  oranges  and  lemons  are  left  hanging  on  the  trees  for 
beauty's  sake.  There  are  but  two  changes  in  the  year,  from 
spring  to  summer,  and  from  summer  back  to  spring. 

It  is  sometimes  cold  in  Naples,  high  up  in  the  city,  when 
the  north-east  wind  comes  screaming  from  the  snowy  Abruzzi, 
and  when  Vesuvius  is  clad  in  white  almost  to  the  lower 
villages.  In  Naples  it  is  sometimes  dreary  when  the  water- 
laden  south-west  sends  up  its  mountains  of  black  clouds.  But 
somehow  in  soft  Posilippo  the  wind  is  tempered  and  the  rain 
seems  but  a  shower,  and  spring  and  summer,  summer  and 
spring,  ever  join  hands  amongst  the  ilexes  and  the  laurels  and 
the  orange  trees. 

On  this  day  it  was  all  summer,  for  there  was  not  a  cloud  in 
the  air  nor  a  whitecap  on  the  sea  as  the  water  gently  lapped 
against  the  steps  at  the  foot  of  Bianca  Corleone's  garden.  It 
was  so  warm  that  she  was  sitting  there  herself,  a  book  unread 
on  her  knees,  her '  marvellous  face  towards  the  day,  her  small 
feet  resting  on  the  lower  rail  of  another  chair  before  her,  just 
because  the  gravel  might  possibly  be  damp. 

Beside  her,  and  turned  towards  her,  looking  earnestly  to 
her  averted  eyes,  sat  Pietro  Ghisleri,  the  man  who  many  years 
afterwards  married  Lady  Herbert  Arden,  of  whom  many  have 
heard, — a  man  young  at  that  time  and  not  world-worn  as  he 
was  later,  nor  prematurely  gaunt  and  weather-beaten.  He  was 
only  five-and-twenty  years  of  age,  then,  and  the  beautiful 
Bianca  was  but  twenty-one,  and  had  already  been  married  two 
years  to  Corleone.  But  the  suffering  of  a  lifetime  had  been 
crushed  into  those  two  years ;  for  Corleone  was  bad,  from  his 
head  to  his  heart,  all  through,  and  she  had  believed  that  she 
loved  him. 

Then,  half  broken-hearted,  she  had  listened  to  Ghisleri ;  and 
he  loved  her  truly,  with  all  his  heart.  Even  society  found 
little  to  say  at  that,  and  perhaps  there  was  little  enough  to  be 
said.  To  all  intents  and  purposes,  Corleone  had  abandoned 
her,  and  Ghisleri  was  often  with  her.  It  was  not  until  later 
that  her  brother,  Gianforte  Campodonico,  lifted  up  his  hand 
against  Ghisleri  for  the  first  time. 

So  Ghisleri  was  sitting  beside  Bianca  on  that  morning,  in 


IV  TAQUISARA  41 

her  garden,  when  there  was  a  sound  of  wheels,  behind  the 
house ;  and  then,  unannounced,  as  one  familiar  with  the  place, 
Veronica  Serra  came  swiftly  down  the  walk  towards  the  pair. 
Ghisleri  rose  to  his  feet, — a  tall,  fair  man,  sunburnt,  lean  and 
strong,  with  bright  blue  eyes, — and  Bianca  turned  in  her  chair, 
with  a  smile,  and  held  out  her  hand,  as  she  sat,  to  the  young 
girl. 

"You  do  not  mind?"  asked  Veronica,  smiling  innocently. 
"  Am  I  not  interrupting  you  ?  " 

"  No,  dear — no."  A  very  faint  dawn  of  colour  rose  in 
Bianca's  almost  unnatural  pallor. 

"  Something  so  strange  has  happened,"  said  Veronica. 

Then  she  nodded  to  Pietro  Ghisleri,  realizing  that  she  had 
forgotten  him.  He  moved  forward  for  her  the  chair  on  which 
he  had  been  sitting,  while  he  continued  to  stand.  Veronica 
had  often  met  him  there  before. 

"  Donna  Veronica  has  something  to  say  to  you,"  he  said,  to 
Bianca.  "  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  go  up  to  the  stable  and 
look  at  that  dog." 

Bianca  nodded,  as  though  it  were  a  matter  of  course  that 
Pietro  should  look  after  her  dogs  when  there  was  anything  the 
matter  with  them,  and  Veronica  sat  down.  Her  expression 
was  strange,  Bianca  thought,  as  though  she  did  not  know 
whether  to  laugh  or  cry.  Yet  she  looked  fresh  and  well  and 
not  tired.  The  girl  told  her  story  in  half  a  dozen  words,  as 
soon  as  Ghisleri  was  out  of  hearing. 

"  They  want  me  to  marry  Bosio,"  she  said,  and  then  drew 
breath,  holding  both  of  Bianca's  hands  and  looking  into  her 
eyes. 

"  You  ?  Marry  Bosio  Macomer  ?  Oh  !  no— Veronica — 
no!" 

Bianca's  voice  expressed  the  greatest  apprehension,  for 
Veronica  was  almost  her  only  intimate  friend.  Veronica 
seemed  surprised. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked.  "That  is,  if  I  wished  to.  Why 
do  you  speak  in  that  way  ?  Do  you  know  anything  about  him 
which  I  do  not  know?  You  must  have  some  reason." 

Bianca's  exquisite  face  grew  calm  and  grave,  and  she  looked 
away,  and  waited  some  seconds  before  she  spoke.  The  sins  of 
the  earth  were  familiar  to  her  before  her  time,  and  the  suffering 
and  the  payment.  But  Veronica  was  a  child. 

"  It  seems  unfitting."  she  said,  quietly.     "  He  is  almost  like 


42  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

your  uncle.  Of  course,  one  may  marry  one's  uncle — but  he  is 
too  old  for  you,  dear.  And,  after  all,  with  your  name  and  all 
you  have — " 

"  But  I  like  Bosio,"  answered  Veronica,  simply.  "  He  is 
always  good  to  me.  I  talk  with  him  a  great  deal.  And  he  is 
really  not  old,  though  his  hair  is  a  little  grey.  I  think  I 
would  perhaps  rather  have  him  just  for  a  friend,  instead  of  a 
husband.  But  then,  he  would  be  both.  I  do  not  know  what 
to  do,  so  I  came  to  you  for  advice." 

"Why  do  you  not  marry  Gianluca  della  Spina?"  asked 
Bianca,  suddenly. 

"  Don  Gianluca  ?  "  repeated  Veronica,  rather  blankly.  "  Why 
him,  particularly  ?  I  have  only  seen  him  three  or  four  times." 

"  He  is  dying  of  love  for  you,  my  dear,"  said  Bianca.  "  At 
least,  every  one  says  so.  I  have  heard  it  from  Taquisara  and 
from  Signer  Ghisleri,  who  are  friends  of  his." 

"  Dying  of  love  for  me  ?  "  Veronica  broke  out  in  a  girlish 
laugh.  "  How  absurd  !  Why  does  he  not  ask  for  me,  if  that 
is-  true  ?  Not  that  I  would  ever  marry  him  !  He  is  like  a 
Perugino  angel,  with  his  yellow  hair  and  blue  eyes." 

She  laughed  again.  Bianca  knew  from  Ghisleri  that  Gian- 
luca's  father  had  done  his  best  to  bring  about  the  marriage. 
She  was  amazed  to  find  that  Veronica  knew  nothing  of  the 
negotiations. 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  she  said,  thoughtfully,  and  hesitating  as 
to  how  much  she  should  tell  of  what  she  had  heard. 

"  What  is  strange  ?  "  asked  the  young  girl. 

"  That  you  should  not  have  known  about  Gianluca.  They 
go  to  see  him  every  day.  He  is  really  madly  in  love  with  you, 
and  is  positively  ill  about  it.  That  is  why  I  say  that  you  should 
marry  him,  if  you  marry  at  all — but  not  your  uncle  Bosio." 

"  He  is  not  my  uncle,"  said  Veronica.  "  He  is  my  aunt's 
brother-in-law." 

"  It  is  the  same  thing — " 

"  No.  It  is  not  the  same.  Tell  me  all  about  Don  Gianluca. 
It  is  interesting — I  feel  like  a  heroine  in  a  book — a  man  dying 
for  love  of  me,  whom  I  scarcely  know !  It  is  too  ridiculous  ! 
He  must  be  in  love  with  my  fortune,  as  my  aunt  says  that  so 
many  people  are." 

"  No,  dear,"  said  Bianca,  gravely,  "  do  not  say  that.  It  is 
for  yourself,  and  he  does  not  need  your  fortune." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  say  anything  unkind,"  answered  Vero- 


IV  TAQUISARA  43 

nica.  "  But  I  scarcely  know  him — and  I  have  heard  nothing 
about  it.  Have  they  spoken  of  the  marriage  ?  " 

"Yes." 

They  were  interrupted  by  a  servant,  who  came  quickly  down 
from  the  house.  The  man  asked  if  the  princess  would  receive 
Baron  Taquisara.  Bianca  ordered  him  to  be  admitted,  and 
told  the  man  to  ask  Ghisleri  to  come  back  from  the  stables. 

"  Do  you  know  Taquisara  ?  "  she  asked  Veronica. 

"  A  Sicilian  ?  With  a  bronze  face  and  fiery  eyes  ?  I  have 
seen  him  once  or  twice  at  balls,  I  think.  Yes — he  was  intro 
duced  to  me  somewhere.  I  remember  him  because  they  say 
he  is  descended  from  Tancred." 

"Yes,"  said  Bianca.  "I  could  not  refuse  to  receive  him, 
because  Signer  Ghisleri  is  here.  They  will  both  go  away  before 
long,  and  then  we  can  talk.  Can  you  stay  to  breakfast  with 
me?" 

"  Oh,  no !  I  should  not  dare  to  do  that ! "  Veronica 
laughed  a  little.  "  No  one  knows  where  I  am,"  she  added. 
"  My  aunt  thinks  I  have  gone  for  a  drive  to  think  over  the 
matter.  I  just  pulled  down  the  curtain  of  the  brougham  and 
told  the  man  to  bring  me  here — all  alone." 

At  this  moment  Taquisara  and  Ghisleri  appeared  on  the 
gravel  path,  walking  side  by  side,  two  men  strongly  contrasted 
with  each  other,  Italians  of  the  Lombard  and  the  Saracen  types, 
fine  specimens  both,  in  the  prime  of  youth  and  strength. 
Bianca  gave  the  Sicilian  her  hand,  and  he  bowed  gravely  to 
Veronica.  Ghisleri  brought  out  more  chairs,  and  without  the 
slightest  hesitation  sat  down  beside  Bianca,  forcing  Taquisara 
to  place  himself  near  the  young  girl. 

Taquisara  was  a  man  almost  incapable  of  anything  like  social 
timidity,  in  whatever  position  he  might  be  placed,  and  he  was 
in  reality  delighted  at  thus  being  thrust  upon  Donna  Veronica, 
from  whom  he  felt  sure  that  he  should  learn  something  about 
the  projected  marriage.  For  he  had  great  and  unaffected  con- 
fidence'in  himself.  But  he  hesitated  a  moment  before  he  spoke, 
for  he  did  not  now  remember  that  he  had  ever  before  entered 
intentionally  into  a  serious  conversation  with  a  young  girl,  in 
the  whole  course  of  his  life.  The  customs  of  the  society  in 
which  he  lived  made  such  things  well-nigh  impossible.  As 
usual  with  him,  he  meditated  going  straight  to  the  matter  in 
hand,  and  he  only  paused  to  consider  what  words  he  should 
use.  Veronica,  as  she  had  been  taught  to  do  in  such  a  position, 


44  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

looked  vacantly  before  her  at  the  roots  of  the  trees,  waiting  for 
him  to  say  something. 

He  had  not  seen  her,  except  from  a  distance,  since  Gianluca 
had  fallen  so  madly  in  love  with  her,  and  while  she  looked 
away  from  him,  his  bold  eyes  scrutinized  her  face.  He  saw 
what  she  had  seen,  when  she  had  looked  into  the  glass  on  the 
previous  evening — neither  more  nor  less,  except  that  she  was 
dressed  for  walking,  and  something  feathery  was  around  her 
slender  throat — and  she  wore  a  hat,  which,  in  her  own  opinion, 
changed  her  appearance  very  much.  But,  as  he  looked,  he  was 
aware  that  there  was  more  in  her  face  than  he  had  supposed. 

There  was  something  in  the  expression  which  was,  all  at 
once,  far  more  beautiful  to  him,  than  anything  he  had  ever  dis 
covered  in  the  sad  and  faultless  features  of  the  already  famous 
beauty  who  sat  beside  her.  Unconsciously,  as  he  realized  it, 
he  forgot  that  he  was  expected  to  speak. 

Then,  wondering  at  his  silence,  and  conscious  of  his  gaze, 
Veronica  turned  her  face  to  his,  with  a  shy  look  of  girlish  in 
quiry,  and  their  eyes  met.  Taquisara  was  too  dark  to  blush, 
but  to  his  own  surprise  he  felt  that  the  blood  had  mounted  in 
his  face,  and  in  Veronica's  own  thin,  young  cheeks  there  was  a 
faint  and  lovely  tinge  which  lasted  but  a  moment  and  then 
faded,  coming  again  more  strongly  as  she  turned  her  eyes  away. 
Then  he  felt  that  he  must  speak.  Ghisleri  and  Bianca,  on  the 
other  side,  had  begun  at  once  to  talk,  and  their  voices,  unknown 
to  themselves,  had  sunk  to  a  low  key. 

"  I  am  very  glad  I  have  met  you  here,  this  morning,  Donna 
Veronica,"  said  Taquisara,  leaning  forward  so  as  to  speak  close 
to  her,  but  looking  down  at  the  gravel  under  his  feet.  "  I  had 
something  especial  to  say  to  you." 

Veronica  glanced  at  him,  half  startled.  His  tone  and  man 
ner  were  quite  different  from  anything  she  had  hitherto  heard 
and  seen.  She  saw  that  he  was  not  looking  at  her,  and  her  eyes 
went  back  to  the  roots  of  the  trees. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  almost  inaudibly,  for  she  did  not  know 
whether  he  expected  her  to  say  anything. 

"  I  have  a  very  good  friend,  Donna  Veronica,"  he  continued; 
"  I  have  been  with  him  this  morning.  You  have  heard  his 
name  often  of  late,  I  think,  and  you  know  him — Gianluca  della 
Spina." 

Veronica  started  a  little,  and  again  the  colour  came  and  went 
in  her  delicate  face. 


iv  TAQUISARA  45 

"  Yes,"  she  said.     "  I— I  know  him  a  little." 

"  He  loves  you,  Donna  Veronica,"  Taquisara  said,  his  voice 
softening  almost  to  a  whisper,  for  he  did  not  wish  Bianca  Cor- 
leone  to  hear  him.  "  He  loves  you  so  much  that  he  is  almost 
dangerously  ill — indeed,  I  think  it  is  dangerous — because  you 
will  not  marry  him." 

He  paused  to  see  what  she  would  do.  She  quickly  turned 
her  startled  eyes  to  him,  and  her  lips  parted,  but  she  said 
nothing.  He  raised  his  face  and  met  her  look  as  he  went  on. 

"  Last  night,  his  father  was  at  your  house,  and  he  was  told 
that  there  was  no  hope,  because  you  were  betrothed  to  Count 
Bosio  Macomer." 

"They  told  him  that?"  asked  Veronica,  quickly,  and  the 
colour  mounted  a  third  time  in  her  cheeks.  "But  it  is  not 
true  ! "  she  added ;  and  her  eyes  set  themselves  sharply,  for  she 
was  angry. 

"  No,"  said  Taquisara,  "  I  know  that  it  is  not  quite  true,  for 
I  have  been  to  see  Count  Bosio.  I  was  there  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  You  have  quarrelled  ?  "  asked  Veronica,  in  sudden  anxiety. 

"  Quarrelled  ?  no.  Why  should  we  quarrel  ?  He  gave  me  to 
understand  that  nothing  was  settled.  I  thanked  him,  and  came 
away.  I  did  not  hope  to  see  you;  but  I  knew  that  the  Princess 
Corleone  was  your  best  friend,  as  I  am  Gianluca's.  I  thought  I 
would  speak  to  her.  Since,  by  a  miracle,  we  have  met,  I  have 
spoken  directly  to  you.  Do  you  forgive  me?  I  hope  so,  though 
I  daresay  that  no  mere  acquaintance  has  ever  talked  as  I  am 
talking.  If  you  blame  me,  remember  that  it  is  for  Gianluca, 
that  he  is  my  friend,  that  he  knows  nothing  of  my  speaking  to 
you,  since  you  and  I  have  met  by  chance,  and  that  he  is  perhaps 
dying — dying  for  you,  Donna  Veronica." 

The  girl's  face  was  white  and  grave  now,  for  Taquisara  spoke 
in  earnest. 

"  How  dreadful ! "  she  exclaimed. 

Bianca  turned  her  head,  for  she  was  not  so  much  absorbed 
in  her  conversation  with  Ghisleri  as  not  to  have  noticed  that 
Veronica  and  Taquisara  were  speaking  almost  in  whispers,  which 
was  strange  conduct  for  a  young  girl  with  a  mere  acquaintance, 
to  say  the  least  of  it. 

"  What  is  so  dreadful  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh  ! — nothing,"  answered  Veronica,  glancing  at  her,  and 
turning  back  instantly  to  Taquisara. 

A  shade  of  annoyance  was  in  his  face,  and  Veronica  felt  sud- 


46  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

denly  that  this  was  the  first  real  crisis  in  her  life,  and  that  she 
must  hear  all  he  had  to  say,  to  the  end,  at  any  cost  of  propriety. 

"  Come  !  "  she  said  to  Taquisara. 

She  rose  as  calmly  as  a  married  woman,  many  years  older 
than  she,  might  have  done,  and  Taquisara  was  on  his  feet  at 
the  same  moment.  She  led  the  way  down  to  the  marble  steps 
that  descended  to  the  sea,  and  stood  on  the  uppermost  one 
looking  out.  Bianca  and  Ghisleri  watched  her  in  surprise,  and 
Bianca  made  a  slight  movement,  as  though  to  follow,  but  then 
leaned  back  again.  There  was  then,  and  still  is,  a  very  strong 
feeling  in  Southern  Italy  against  allowing  a  young  girl  to  be  out 
of  earshot  with  a  man. 

Though  Bianca  and  Veronica  had  been  children  together, 
and  there  was  little  difference  of  age  between  them,  Bianca  felt 
that,  as  the  married  woman,  she  was  responsible  for  the  ob 
servance  of  social  custom.  But  in  a  moment  she  realized  that 
Taquisara  was  talking  of  Gianluca,  and  that  anything  would  be 
better  than  to  allow  Veronica  to  marry  Bosio  Macomer. 

" I  understand,"  she  said  to  Ghisleri ;  "let  them  alone.  It 
is  better,  so  long  as  only  you  and  I  see  it." 

Down  by  the  steps,  Veronica  stood  very  still,  looking  out 
over  the  blue  water,  and  Taquisara  was  beside  her.  She  waited 
for  him  to  speak  again,  sure  that  he  had  not  said  all. 

"Such  things  seem  improbable  in  these  days,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"  You  say  that  it  is  dreadful.  It  is.  I  have  seen  it,  and  have 
been  with  him  day  after  day.  I  am  not  very  sensitive,  as  a 
rule,  but  I  have  had  a  strange  impression  which  I  shall  never 
forget.  Gianluca  and  I  met  when  we  were  serving  our  time  as 
volunteers.  He  was  unlike  the  rest  of  us,  even  then.  That 
was  why  we  became  friends — because  he  was  unlike  me,  I 
suppose." 

"  Unlike — in  what  way  ?  "  asked  Veronica,  still  looking  at 
the  sea. 

"  It  is  hard  to  explain.  He  is  a  man  of  ideals,  a  religious 
man,  a  good  man."  Taquisara  smiled  gravely.  "  That  was 
enough  to  make  him  quite  different  from  us  all,  was  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  young  girl.  "  Are  all  men  bad, 
as  a  rule  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  the  Sicilian,  shortly.  "  At  all  events, 
Gianluca  was  not.  One  saw  that  all  the  little  that  was  bad  in 
his  life  was  only  a  jest,  while  all  the  much  that  was  good  was 
real  and  true." 


IV  TAQUISARA  47 

"You  are  indeed  his  friend,"  said  Veronica,  softly. 

She  was  struck  by  the  beauty  of  what  the  man  had  said 
so  plainly  and  unaffectedly. 

"  Yes,  I  am  his  friend,"  replied  Taquisara.  "  One  of  his 
friends,  say, — for  he  has  many.  I  am  his  friend  as  you  are  the 
friend  of  Donna  Bianca.  You  understand  that,  do  you  not  ? 
And  you  understand  that  there  is  nothing  you  would  not  do  for 
a  friend  ?  Not  out  of  mere  obligation,  because  your  friend  has 
done  much  for  you,  but  just  for  friendship — love,  if  you  choose 
to  call  it  so.  I  have  heard  people  speak  eloquently  of  friend 
ship — so  have  you  perhaps.  And  we  both  understand  what  it 
means,  though  many  do  not  That  is  why  I  speak  as  I  do,  and 
if  I  do  not  speak  well,  you  must  forgive  me,  and  feel  the 
meaning  I  cannot  express  to  your  ears.  Gianluca  loves  you, 
Donna  Veronica,  as  men  very  rarely  love  women,  so  immensely, 
so  strongly,  that  his  love  is  burning  up  his  life  in  him — and  it 
has  all  been  kept  from  you  for  some  reason  or  other,  while  your 
relations  are  doing  their  best  to  make  you  marry  Bosio 
Macomer,  who  can  no  more  be  compared  with  Gianluca  della 
Spina  than — " 

He  checked  himself,  for  he  felt  that  his  tone  was  con 
temptuous,  and  remembered  that  Veronica  might  perhaps  like 
Bosio.  She  was  listening,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  distance,  her 
mind  wide  open  to  the  new  experience  of  life  which  had  come 
so  unexpectedly. 

"  He  cannot  be  compared  with  Gianluca,"  continued 
Taquisara,  modifying  his  sentence  and  omitting  whatever  simile 
had  presented  itself  in  his  thoughts.  "  If  you  knew  Gianluca, 
you  would  understand.  It  is  because  I  know  him  well  that 
I  speak  for  him,  that  I  implore  you,  pray  you,  beseech  you, 
to  see  him  before  you  consent  to  marry  Count  Bosio — " 

"  To  see  him  ! "  exclaimed  Veronica,  startled  at  the  sudden 
proposition,  which  was  a  blow  to  every  tradition  she  had  ever 
learned. 

But  the  Sicilian  was  not  a  man  to  hesitate  at  trifles  where 
women  were  concerned,  nor  men  either. 

"  Yes — to  see  him  ! "  he  answered  with  a  certain  vehemence. 
"Is  it  a  sin?  Is  it  a  crime?  Is  it  dishonourable?  Why 
should  you  cry  out  ?  What  is  society  that  it  should  take  you 
young  girls  by  the  throat,  like  martyrs,  and  chain  you  with 
proprieties  to  the  stake  of  its  rigid  law — to  be  burnt  to  death 
afterwards  by  slow  fire,  like  your  best  friend  there,  Donna 


48  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Bianca  ?  Ah — you  understand  that.  You  know  her  life,  and 
I  know  it  too.  It  is  the  life — or  the  death — to  which  you  may 
look  forward  if  you  will  neither  open  your  eyes  to  see,  nor  raise 
your  hand  to  guard  yourself.  And  you  cry  out  in  outraged 
horror  at  the  idea  of  seeing  Gianluca  della  Spina  here,  in  this 
garden,  by  these  steps,  under  God's  sunlight,  as  you  see  me 
here  to-day  by  accident.  It  seems  to  you — what  shall  I  say  ? — 
unladylike  ! "  Taquisara  laughed  scornfully.  "  What  does  it 
matter  whether  you  are  unladylike  or  not,  so  long  as  you  are 
womanly,  and  kind,  and  brave  ?  I  am  telling  you  truths  you 
have  never  heard,  but  you  have  a  woman's  right  to  hear  them, 
whatever  you  may  think  of  me.  And  I  speak  for  another.  I 
have  the  holy  right  to  say  for  him,  for  his  life,  for  his  happiness, 
all  that  I  would  not  say  for  myself,  perhaps.  And  I  do  say, 
what  is  to  prevent  Gianluca  from  being  here  to-morrow,  or  this 
very  afternoon,  as  I  am  here  now,  and  why  should  it  be  such 
a  dreadful  thing  for  you  to  come  here,  knowing  that  you  will 
meet  him?  Do  you  think  that  he  would  not  give  the  last 
drop  of  his  blood,  at  one  word  from  your  lips,  to  save  you  from 
trouble,  or  danger,  or  insult  ?  Do  you  think,  if  he  knew  how  I 
am  speaking  to  you — speaking  roughly,  perhaps,  because  I  am 
rough — he  would  not  turn  upon  me,  his  friend,  who  am  fighting 
for  his  life,  and  quarrel  with  me,  and  disown  me,  because 
my  roughness  comes  near  you  and  may  offend  you  ?  You  do 
not  know  him.  How  should  you  ?  But  because  you  do  not 
know  him  and  cannot  guess  how  he  loves  you,  do  not  throw 
his  life  away  without  seeing  it,  without  understanding  what  you 
despise,  and  learning  that  it  is  far  above  your  contempt — a 
noble  life,  an  honest  life,  a  true-hearted  young  life,  which  may 
be  lived  out  for  you  only — and,  for  you,  I  think  it  would  be 
worth  living." 

Taquisara  was  a  man  who  could  be  in  earnest  for  his  friend, 
and  there  was  a  strong  vibration  in  his  low  voice  which  few 
could  have  heard  with  indifference.  While  he  was  speaking 
and  forcing  the  appeal  of  his  honest  black  eyes  upon  Veronica's 
face,  she  could  not  help  slowly  turning  to  meet  them,  and  her 
lips  parted  a  little  as  though  in  wonder,  while  she  drank  in 
eagerly  the  words  he  spoke.  It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life 
that  she  had  ever  heard  a  man  speak  to  her  of  love,  and,  in  his 
rough  eloquence,  he  spoke  well  and  strongly,  though  it  was  not 
for  himself.  In  his  own  cause,  the  words  might  not  have  come 
so  readily,  but  they  were  not  now  the  less  evidently  sincere, 


IV  TAQUISARA  49 

because  they  were  many.  She  was  glad  that  she  had  boldly 
risen  and  left  Bianca's  side,  in  order  to  hear  him.  But  when 
he  paused,  she  scarcely  knew  what  to  answer.  She  wanted 
to  hear  more.  It  was  as  though  a  dawn  were  rising,  high  and 
clear,  in  the  dim  country  through  which  childhood  had  led  her, 
and  she  longed  suddenly  for  the  full  light  of  broad  day. 

"  Indeed,  you  speak  as  though  you  loved  him,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  trying  to  tell  you  how  he  loves  you,  and  I 
cannot,  though  I  know  it  all.  You  must  hear  it  for  yourself, 
you  must  see  him,  you  must  know  him — " 

"  But  it  is  impossible — "  Veronica's  protest  broke  off  rather 
weakly  in  the  middle. 

"It  is  impossible  that  you  should  be  here  to-morrow  at  this 
hour  ?  Perhaps — I  do  not  know.  But  to-morrow  at  this  hour 
Gianluca  will  be  here,  though  he  has  not  been  able  to  leave  the 
house  for  a  week;  and  if  you  come,  all  the  impossibility  is 
gone.  It  is  as  simple  as  that — " 

"  That  is  an  appointment — with  a  man — " 

Again  the  blood  rushed  to  the  young  girl's  face,  but  this  time 
it  was  genuine  shame  of  doing  a  thing  which  she  had  been 
taught  to  think  the  most  dreadful  in  the  whole  world. 

"An  appointment!"  Taquisara  laughed  contemptuously. 
"  Do  you  not  come  often  to  see  the  Princess  Corleone  ?  You 
will  come  again.  And  Gianluca  will  come  often,  too — and  if 
you  chance  to  meet  to-morrow,  it  will  be  an  accident  of  fate, 
that  is  all,  as  you  chanced  to  see  me  here  to-day.  You  cannot 
forbid  him  to  come  here.  You  cannot,  without  a  reason,  ask 
Donna  Bianca  to  refuse  to  receive  him — " 

"  Oh  ! — if  she  ever  guessed — "  Veronica  checked  herself, 
still  blushing,  but  Taquisara  was  too  sincerely  in  earnest  to 
smile  at  the  slip  she  had  made. 

"  That  is  all,"  he  said.  "  There  is  neither  appointment,  nor 
engagement,  nor  anything  but  the  possibility  of  a  meeting 
which  you  cannot  be  sure  of  avoiding,  unless  you  never  come 
to  see  your  friend,  or  unless  you  give  her  some  unjust  reason 
for  not  letting  him  come,  in  case  he  calls.  There  is  nothing 
but  chance.  How  can  I  tell  whether  you  will  come  to-morrow, 
or  not  ?  I  shall  perhaps  never  know,  for  I  shall  not  come  with 
him.  I  have  been  here  to-day — what  excuse  could  I  give  for 
calling  again  to-morrow?  Donna  Bianca  would  think  it  strange. 
I  can  hope,  for  his  sake.  I  can  tell  you  that  no  woman  has 
the  right  to  throw  away  such  love  as  his,  to  ruin  such  a  life  as 

D 


So  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

his,  to  break  such  a  heart  without  a  thought  and  without  so 
much  as  hearing  the  man  speak — whatever  this  wretched  society 
in  which  we  live  may  say  about  proprieties  and  rights  and 
wrongs,  and  the  difference  between  the  proper  behaviour  for 
young  girls  and  married  women.  This  is  God's  earth,  Donna 
Veronica — not  society's  !" 

Veronica  said  nothing ;  but  there  was  perplexity  in  her  face, 
and  she  looked  down,  and  pulled  at  one  finger  of  her  glove. 
She  was  wondering  whether,  if  she  came  on  the  next  day,  and 
stood  with  Gianluca  della  Spina  on  that  very  spot,  he  would 
speak  for  himself  as  strongly  and  well  as  his  friend  had  been 
speaking  for  him. 

Somehow,  she  doubted  it,  and  somehow,  too,  she  knew  that 
if  by  magic  Taquisara  should  all  at  once  turn  out  to  be  the 
real  Gianluca, — not  the  Gianluca  she  knew, — she  should  be 
better  satisfied  with  the  world.  For  as  things  seemed  just  then, 
she  was  not  satisfied  at  all,  and  the  future  was  more  dim  and 
uncertain  than  ever.  Still  she  looked  down,  thinking,  and 
Taquisara  glanced  at  her  occasionally,  and  respected  her 
silence. 

"  You  do  not  know  Bosio  Macomer,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  Or 
you  know  him  little.  If  you  chanced  to  be  his  friend,  instead 
of  Don  Gianluca's,  you  could  speak  as  eloquently  for  him.  " 

"  I  think  not,"  answered  Taquisara.  And  his  lip  curled  a 
little,  though  she  did  not  see  the  expression. 

"  Why  not  ?  You  do  not  know  him.  How  can  you  tell  ? 
A  little  while  ago,  you  said  that  he  was  not  to  be  compared  to 
your  friend.  How  can  you  be  so  sure?  Everything  is  not 
written  in  men's  faces." 

"  I  judge  as  I  can,  from  what  I  see  and  know." 

"So  do  I." 

"  From  seeing  and  knowing  the  one  and  not  the  other.  That 
is  it.  All  I  ask  is  that  you  will  wait  until  you  know  both, 
before  you  make  up  your  mind— a  week— no  more,  if  you  can 
spare  no  more.  It  is  not  for  me  to  tell  you  what  your  rights 
are,  that  you  are  not  in  the  position  of  the  average  young  girl, 
just  from  the  convent,  who  accepts  the  choice  her  father  and 
mother  make  for  her — because,  perhaps,  she  may  never  have 
another ;  and,  at  all  events,  because  she  cannot  choose.  You 
have  the  world  to  choose  from,  and — forgive  me  for  saying  it — • 
you  have  no  one  to  choose  for  you  but  those  who  are  interested 
in  the  choice.  May  I  speak?" 


IV  TAQUISARA  51 

She  hesitated,  and  their  eyes  met  for  a  moment. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  suddenly. 

"  Count  Bosio  may  be  the  best  of  men.  I  do  not  know. 
But  he  is  the  middle-aged,  young  brother  of  Count  Macomer, 
with  a  very  slender  fortune  of  his  own  and  a  position  no  better 
than  the  rest  of  us.  If  he  marries  you,  he  becomes  Prince  of 
Acireale,  a  Prince  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  a  Grandee  of 
Spain  of  the  First  Class — and  many  times  a  millionnaire.  For 
you  have  all  that  to  give  the  man  you  marry.  Grant  that  he  is 
the  best  of  men.  Is  his  brother  wholly  disinterested  ?  I  speak 
plainly.  It  is  rumoured  that  Count  Macomer  has  lost  most  of 
his  fortune  in  speculations.  I  do  not  know  whether  that  is 
true.  Even  if  it  is  not,  what  was  all  his  fortune  compared  to 
what  it  would  mean  to  him  if  his  brother  held  yours  ?" 

"  My  uncle  never  speculated  in  his  life  ! "  answered  Veronica, 
rather  indignantly. 

"  Grant  that.  The  other  side  remains.  And  the  countess  ? 
Is  she  wholly  disinterested?  Has  she  been  disappointed  by 
the  marriage  she  made,  or  not  ?  She  was  born  a  Serra,  like 
yourself,  and  she  married  Macomer  in  the  days  of  the  old 
court,  when  he  was  a  favourite  with  the  old  king  and  had  a 
brilliant  position,  and  people  said  that  he  might  be  one  of  the 
first  men  in  the  kingdom.  But  Garibaldi  swept  all  that  away, 
and  Macomer's  chances  with  it,  and  the  countess  is  a  dis 
appointed  woman,  for  her  husband  has  remained  just  what  he 
always  was — plain  Count  Macomer,  with  his  name  and  his 
palace,  neither  of  them  extraordinary.  Truly,  Donna  Veronica, 
though  you  may  refuse  to  speak  to  me  again  for  what  I  say,  I 
will  dare  to  tell  you  that  you  must  be  very  unsuspicious  !  They 
conceal  from  you  the  honourable  offer  of  such  a  man  as  Gian- 
luca  della  Spina,  the  eldest  son  of  a  great  old  house,  and  they 
announce  your  betrothal  with  Count  Bosio  before  either  you  or 
he  know  of  it.  One  need  not  be  very  distrustful  to  think  all 
that  strange — even  granting  that  Count  Bosio  is  the  best  of 
men,  a  matter  of  which  you  are  a  judge." 

"  I  would  rather  that  you  should  not  say  those  things  to  me," 
said  Veronica,  a  little  pale,  and  turning  half  round  as  though 
she  would  go  back  to  Bianca  and  Ghisleri. 

"  Forgive  me — for  I  have  risked  such  opinion  of  me  as  you 
may  have,  to  say  them.  There  may  be  reasonable  doubt  about 
them.  But  of  the  rest — there  is  no  doubt.  There  is  a  man's 
life  in  it,  and  death  is  beyond  doubts,  and  a  love  that  can  take 


52  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

a  man  and  tear  him  and  hurt  him  until  he  dies  has  a  right  to  a 
woman's  hearing — and  to  her  charity — before  she  throws  it 
away.  I  ask  no  forgiveness  of  you  for  saying  that.  Gianluca 
will  come  to-morrow  at  this  time,  and  he  will  come  again  until 
he  sees  you.  I  have  kept  you  too  long,  Donna  Veronica,  and 
you  have  been  kind  in  listening  to  me.  If  you  need  service  in 
your  life,  use  mine." 

She  said  nothing,  but  gravely  inclined  her  head  a  little  when 
she  had  once  more  looked  into  his  eyes,  before  she  turned 
towards  Bianca  and  walked  slowly  up  the  short,  broad  path  by 
his  side. 


CHAPTER  V 

Bosio  felt  that  if  he  remained  in  his  room  alone  with  the 
horror  of  his  position,  he  should  go  mad  before  night.  He 
was  weakly  resolved  not  to  marry  Veronica,  but  he  knew  and 
for  the  first  time  dreaded  the  power  Matilde  had  over  his 
thoughts  as  well  as  his  actions.  He  felt  that  if  he  could  avoid 
her,  he  could  still  cling  to  the  remnant  of  honour,  but  that  she 
would  tear  it  from  him  if  she  could  and  cast  it  to  the  winds. 
The  whole  card-house  of  his  ill-founded  life  was  trembling 
under  the  breath  of  fate,  and  its  near  fall  seemed  to  threaten 
its  existence. 

He  went  out  and  walked  slowly  through  sunny,  unfrequented 
places,  high  up  in  the  city,  trying  to  shake  off  the  chill  of  his 
fear  as  a  man  hopes  to  rid  himself  of  an  ague  by  sitting  in  the 
sun.  But  the  chill  was  in  his  heart,  and  it  was  his  soul  that 
shivered.  He  weakly  wished  that  he  were  wholly  bad,  that  he 
might  feel  less. 

Then,  in  true  Italian  humour,  he  tried  to  think  of  something 
which  might  divert  his  thoughts  from  the  duty  of  facing  their 
own  terrible  perplexity.  If  it  had  been  evening,  he  would  have 
strolled  into  the  theatre ;  had  it  been  already  afternoon,  he 
would  have  had  himself  driven  out  along  the  public  garden 
towards  Posilippo,  to  see  the  faces  of  his  friends  go  by.  But  it 
was  morning.  There  was  nothing  but  the  club,  and  he  cared 
little  for  the  men  he  might  meet  there.  There  was  nothing  to 
do,  and  his  eyes  did  not  help  him  to  forget  his  troubles.  He 


V  TAQUISARA  53 

wandered  on  through  ways  broad  and  narrow,  climbing  up  one 
steep  lane  and  descending  again  by  the  next,  hardly  aware  of 
direction  and  not  noticing  whether  he  went  east  or  west,  north 
or  south,  up  or  down. 

At  last,  at  a  corner,  he  chanced  to  read  the  name  of  a  street. 
It  was  familiar  enough  to  him  as  a  Neapolitan,  but  just  now  it 
reminded  him  of  something  which  might  possibly  help  to  dis 
tract  his  attention.  He  stopped  and  got  out  his  pocket-book, 
and  found  in  it  a  card,  glanced  at  the  address  on  it,  and  then 
once  more  at  the  name  of  the  street.  Then  he  went  on  till  he 
came  to  the  right  number,  entered  a  gloomy  doorway,  black 
with  dampness  and  foul  air,  ascended  four  flights  of  dark  stone 
steps,  and  stopped  before  a  small  brown  door.  The  card  nailed 
upon  it  was  like  the  one  he  had  in  his  pocket-book.  The  name 
was  '  Giuditta  Astarita,'  and  under  it,  in  another  character,  was 
printed  the  word  '  Somnambulist.' 

There  was  nothing  at  all  unnatural  in  the  name  or  the  pro 
fession,  in  Naples,  where  somnambulists  are  plentiful  enough. 
And  the  name  itself  was  a  Neapolitan  one,  and  by  no  means 
uncommon.  The  card,  however,  was  white  and  clean,  which 
argued  either  that  Giuditta  Astarita  had  not  long  been  a  pro 
fessional  clairvoyante,  or  else  that  she  had  recently  changed  her 
lodgings.  Bosio  knew  nothing  about  her,  except  that  she  had 
suddenly  acquired  an  extraordinary  reputation  as  a  seer,  and 
that  many  people  in  society  had  lately  visited  her,  and  had 
come  away  full  of  extraordinary  stories  about  her  power.  He 
rang  the  little  tinkling  bell,  which  was  answered  by  a  very 
respectably  dressed  woman  servant  with  only  one  eye, — a  fact 
which  Bosio  noticed  because  k  was  the  blind  side  of  her  face 
which  first  appeared  as  the  door  opened. 

The  Signora  Giuditta  Astarita  was  at  home,  and  there  was 
no  other  visitor.  Bosio,  without  giving  his  name,  was  ushered 
into  a  small  sitting-room,  of  which  the  only  window  opened 
upon  a  narrow  court  opposite  a  blank  wall.  The  furniture  was 
scant  and  stiff,  and  such  of  it  as  was  upholstered  was  covered 
with  a  cheap  cotton  corded  material  of  a  spurious  wine  colour. 
There  were  small  square  antimacassars  on  the  chairs,  and  two 
of  them,  side  by  side,  on  the  back  of  the  sofa.  The  single 
window  had  heavy  curtains,  now  drawn  aside,  but  evidently 
capable  of  shutting  out  all  light.  A  solid,  square,  walnut  table 
stood  before  the  sofa,  without  any  table-cloth,  and  upon  it  were 
arranged  half  a  dozen  large  books,  bound  with  a  good  deal  of 


54  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

gilding,  and  which  looked  as  though  they  had  never  been 
opened. 

Bosio  was  standing  before  the  window,  looking  out  at  the 
blank  wall,  when  he  heard  some  one  enter  the  room  and  softly 
close  the  door.  Giuditta  Astarita  came  forward  as  he  turned 
round. 

He  saw  a  heavy,  phlegmatic  woman,  still  very  young,  though 
abnormally  stout,  with  an  unhealthy  face,  thin  black  hair  and 
large  weak  eyes  of  a  light  china  blue.  Her  lips  were  parted  in 
a  sort  of  chronic  sad  smile,  which  showed  uneven  and  dis 
coloured  teeth.  She  wore  a  long  trailing  garment  of  heavy 
black  silk,  not  gathered  to  the  figure  at  the  waist,  but  loose 
from  the  shoulders  down,  and  buttoned  from  throat  to  feet  in 
front,  with  small  buttons,  like  a  cassock.  From  one  of  the 
upper  buttonholes  dangled  a  thin  gold  chain,  supporting  a 
bunch  of  small  charms  against  the  evil  eye,  a  little  coral  horn, 
a  tiny  silver  hunchback,  a  miniature  gilt  bell,  and  two  or  three 
coins  of  gold  and  silver,  besides  an  Egyptian  scarabee  in  a 
gold  setting.  The  woman  remained  standing  before  Bosio. 

"You  wish  to  consult  me,  Signore?"  she  inquired,  in  a 
professional  tone,  through  the  chronic  smile,  as  it  were.  Her 
voice  was  very  hoarse. 

Bosio  bowed  gravely,  whereupon  she  pointed  to  a  chair  for 
him,  drew  another  into  position  for  herself,  opposite  his,  and  at 
some  distance  from  it,  and  then  fumbled  in  the  curtains  for  the 
cord  that  pulled  them. 

"  If  you  will  sit  down,"  she  said,  "  I  will  darken  the  room." 

Bosio  seated  himself,  and  in  a  moment  the  light  was  shut 
out  as  the  heavy  curtains  ran  together.  Then  he  heard  the 
rustle  of  the  woman's  silk  dress  as  she  sat  down  opposite  to 
him  in  the  dark.  He  felt  unaccountably  nervous,  and  her 
china  blue  eyes  had  made  a  disagreeable  impression  upon  him. 
He  expected  something  to  happen. 

"  I  see  a  name  over  your  head,"  said  a  clear,  bell-like  voice, 
certainly  not  Giuditta  Astarita's.  "  It  is  Veronica." 

Bosio  started  uneasily,  though,  like  most  Neapolitans,  he  had 
visited  somnambulists  more  than  once. 

"  Who  is  speaking  ?  "  he  asked,  quickly. 

"  It  is  the  spirit,"  said  the  woman's  hoarse  tones.  "  That  is 
his  voice.  Is  there  such  a  person  as  Veronica  in  your  life? 
Is  it  about  her  that  you  wish  to  consult  the  spirits  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  spirit  voice,  before  Bosio   could  answer. 


V  TAQUISARA  55 

"  You  are  afraid  that  they  will  murder  her,  if  you  do  not  marry 
her — or  if  she  will  not  marry  you." 

Bosio  uttered  a  loud  exclamation  of  alarm  and  astonishment, 
for  this  was  altogether  beyond  anything  in  his  experience. 

"  Is  it  so  ?  "  asked  Giuditta  Astarita. 

"Yes.  It  is  true,"  said  Bosio,  in  uncertain  tones.  "And  I 
wish  to  know — whether — "  he  stopped. 

"Whether  the  grey-faced  man  and  the  handsome  woman 
whose  eyes  are  near  together  will  really  kill  her?"  asked  the 
spirit  voice. 

Bosio  felt  his  soft  hair  rising  on  his  head.  "Do  you  know 
who  I  am  ?  "  he  asked,  nervously. 

"No,"  replied  the  voice  of  Giuditta.  "The  spirits  know 
everything,  but  I  do  not.  They  only  speak  through  me  with 
another  voice.  I  do  not  know  what  they  are  going  to  say. 
You  need  have  no  apprehension.  This  is  more  sacred  than 
the  confessional,  Signore,  more  secret  than  the  tomb." 

The  phrase  sounded  as  though  it  had  been  carefully  studied 
and  often  repeated,  but  the  dramatic  tone  in  which  it  was 
uttered  produced  a  certain  reassuring  effect  upon  Bosio,  in  his 
half  frightened  state. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  tell  whether  they  will  really  kill  Veronica  ?  " 
inquired  Giuditta.  "  If  you  have  any  question  to  ask,  you 
must  put  it  quickly.  I  cannot  keep  the  spirits  waiting.  They 
exhaust  me  when  they  are  impatient." 

"What  shall  I  do  to  avoid  marrying  her?"  asked  Bosio, 
suddenly  springing  to  the  main  point  of  his  doubts. 

"The  handsome  woman  whose  eyes  are  near  together  will 
make  you  marry  Veronica,"  said  the  spirit  voice. 

"  But  if  I  refuse  ?  If  I  say  that  I  will  not  ?  What  then  ? 
Is  her  life  really  in  danger  ?  " 

"  Yes.  They  wish  to  kill  her  to  get  her  money.  The  hand 
some  woman  has  her  will  leaving  her  everything  if  she  dies." 

"  But  will  they  really  kill  her  ?  "  insisted  Bosio,  half  breath 
less  in  his  fear  and  nervous  excitement. 

The  spirit  voice  did  not  answer.  In  the  silence  Bosio  heard 
Giuditta  Astarita's  breathing  opposite  to  him. 

"  Will  they  really  kill  her?"  he  asked  again. 

Still  there  was  silence,  and  Bosio  held  his  breath.  Then 
Giuditta  spoke  hoarsely. 

"  The  spirit  is  gone,"  she  said.  "  He  will  not  answer  any 
more  questions  to-day." 


56  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Can  you  not  call  it  back  ? "  asked  Bosio,  anxiously,  and 
peering  into  the  blackness  before  him,  as  though  hoping  to  see 
something. 

"  No.  When  he  is  gone,  he  never  comes  back  for  the  same 
person.  He  answered  you  many  things,  Signore.  You  must 
have  patience." 

He  heard  her  rise,  and  a  moment  later  the  light  dazzled 
him  as  he  looked  up  and  met  her  china  blue  eyes.  He  was 
dazed  as  well  as  dazzled,  for  there  had  been  an  extraordinary 
directness  and  accuracy  about  the  few  questions  and  answers 
he  had  heard  in  the  clear  voice  which  was  so  utterly  unlike 
Giuditta's,  though  quite  human  and  natural.  He  was  certain 
that  he  had  not  heard  the  door  open  after  she  had  drawn  the 
curtains.  He  looked  about  the  scantily  furnished  room,  in 
search  of  some  corner  in  which  some  third  person  might  have 
been  hidden.  Giuditta  Astarita's  chronic  smile  was  moment 
arily  intensified. 

"  There  was  no  one  else  here,"  she  said,  answering  his  un 
spoken  question.  "  You  heard  the  spirit's  voice  through  my 
ears." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know.  But  what  the  spirit  says  is  true.  You 
may  rely  upon  it.  I  do  not  know  what  it  said,  for  when  I  return 
from  the  trance  state  I  remember  nothing  I  have  heard  or  seen 
while  I  have  been  in  it.  If  you  wish  to  ask  more,  you  must 
have  the  kindness  to  come  again.  It  is  very  fatiguing  to  me. 
You  can  see  that  I  am  not  in  good  health.  The  hours  are 
from  ten  till  three." 

The  smile  had  subsided  within  its  usual  limits,  and  the 
china  blue  eyes  stared  coldly.  She  was  evidently  waiting  to 
be  paid. 

"What  do  I  owe  you?"  asked  Bosio,  with  a  certain  con- 
siderateness  of  tone,  so  to  say. 

"  It  is  twenty-five  lire,"  answered  Giuditta  Astarita.  "  I 
have  but  one  price.  Thank  you,"  she  added,  as  he  laid  the 
notes  upon  the  polished  walnut  table.  "  Do  you  wish  a  few  of 
my  cards  ?  For  your  friends,  perhaps.  I  shall  be  grateful  for 
your  patronage." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Bosio,  taking  his  hat  and  going  towards 
the  door.  "  I  have  one  of  your  cards.  It  is  enough.  Good 
morning." 

As  he  opened  the  door,  he  found   the  one-eyed   serving- 


V  TAQUISARA  57 

woman  in  the  passage,  ready  to  show  him  out.  Instinctively 
he  looked  at  the  single  eye  as  he  glanced  at  her  face,  and  he 
was  surprised  to  notice  that  it  was  of  the  same  uncommon 
china  blue  colour  as  Giuditta's  own.  The  woman  who  did 
duty  as  a  servant  to  admit  visitors  was  undoubtedly  Giuditta's 
mother  or  elder  sister,  or  some  very  near  relative.  It  would 
be  natural  enough,  amongst  such  people,  as  Bosio  knew,  but 
he  wondered  how  many  more  of  the  same  family  lived  in  the 
rooms  beyond  the  one  in  which  he  had  received  spirit-com 
munications,  and  whether  Giuditta  Astarita  supported  them  all 
by  her  extraordinary  talents. 

He  descended  the  damp  stone  stairs  and  passed  out  into 
the  street  again,  dazed  and  disturbed  in  mind.  He  had  been 
to  such  people  before,  as  has  been  said,  and  he  had  generally 
seen  or  heard  something  which  had  either  interested  or  amused 
him.  He  had  never  had  such  an  experience  as  this.  He 
had  never  heard  a  voice  of  which  he  had  been  so  certain  that 
it  did  not  come  from  any  one  in  the  room,  and  he  had  never 
found  any  somnambulist  who  had  so  instantly  grasped  his 
most  secret  thoughts,  without  the  slightest  assistance  or  leading 
word  from  himself.  Yet  at  the  crucial  test — the  question  of 
a  certainty  in  the  future,  this  one  had  stopped  short  as  all 
stopped,  or  failed  in  their  predictions  of  what  was  to  come. 
He  had  been  startled  and  almost  frightened.  Like  many 
Southern  Italians,  he  was  at  once  credulous  and  sceptical — a 
superstitious  unbeliever,  if  one  may  couple  the  two  words  into 
one  expression.  His  intelligence  bade  him  deny  what  his 
temperament  inclined  him  to  accept.  Besides,  on  the  present 
occasion,  no  theory  which  he  could  form  could  account  for  the 
woman's  knowledge  of  his  life.  She  had  never  seen  him.  He 
had  no  extraordinary  peculiarity  by  which  she  might  have 
recognized  him  at  first  sight  from  hearsay,  nor  was  he  in  any 
way  connected  with  public  affairs.  He  had  come  quite  unex 
pectedly  and  had  not  given  his  name,  and  the  spirit,  or 
whatever  it  might  be,  had  instantly  told  him  of  Veronica,  of 
her  danger,  of  his  brother  and  sister-in-law  and  of  the  will. 
Moreover,  the  friends  who  had  spoken  to  him  of  Giuditta 
Astarita  had  told  him  similar  tales  within  a  few  days. 

The  spirit  had  said  that  the  handsome  woman  would  make 
him  marry  Veronica.  But  what  had  the  silence  meant,  when 
he  had  asked  more?  That  was  the  question.  Did  it  mean 
that  the  spirit  was  unwilling  to  affirm  that  Veronica  must  die 


58  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

if  he  refused  to  marry  her  ?  He  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes 
as  he  walked.  This  was  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century ; 
he  was  in  Naples,  in  the  largest  city  of  an  enlightened  country. 
And  yet,  the  situation  might  have  been  taken  from  the  times 
of  the  Medici,  of  Paolo  Giordano  Orsini,  of  Beatrice  Cenci, 
of  the  Borgia.  There  was  a  frightful  incongruity  between 
civilization  and  his  life — between  broad,  flat,  comfortable,  every 
day,  police-regulated  civilization,  and  the  hideous  drama  in 
which  he  was  suddenly  a  principal  actor. 

More  than  once  he  told  himself  that  he  was  mistaken  and 
that  such  things  could  not  possibly  be  ;  that  it  was  all  a  feverish 
dream  and  that  he  should  soon  wake  to  see  that  there  was  a 
perfectly  simple,  natural  and  undramatic  solution  before  him. 
But  turn  the  facts  as  he  would,  he  could  not  find  that  easy 
way.  If  he  refused  to  marry  Veronica  and  attempted  to  get 
legal  protection  for  her,  the  inevitable  result  would  be  the  pro 
secution,  conviction,  and  utter  ruin  of  his  brother  and  of  the 
woman  he  loved.  If  he  refused  to  marry  Veronica  and  did 
nothing  to  protect  her,  Matilde's  eyes  had  told  him  what 
Matilde  would  do  to  escape  public  shame  and  open  infamy. 
If  he  married  Veronica  and  saved  his  brother — he  was  still 
man  enough  to  feel  that  he  could  not  do  that.  He  could  die. 
That  was  a  possibility  of  which  he  had  thought.  But  would 
his  death,  which  would  save  him  from  committing  the  last  and 
greatest  baseness,  save  Veronica  ?  She  would  have  one  friend 
less  in  the  world,  and  she  had  not  many. 

With  a  half-childish  smile  on  his  pale  face,  he  wondered  what 
such  a  man  as  Taquisara  would  do,  if  he  were  so  placed,  and 
the  Sicilian's  manly  face  and  bold  eyes  rose  up  contemptuously 
before  him.  To  such  a  depth  as  Bosio  had  already  reached, 
Taquisara  could  never  have  fallen.  Bosio's  instinct  told  him 
that. 

If  he  had  been  able  to  find  one  friend  in  all  his  acquaintance 
to  whom  he  might  turn  and  ask  advice,  it  would  have  been  an 
infinite  relief.  But  such  friends  were  rare,  he  knew,  and  he 
had  never  made  one.  Pleasant  acquaintances  he  had,  by  the 
score  and  the  hundred,  in  society,  and  amongst  artists  and  men 
of  letters.  But  the  life  he  had  led  had  shut  out  friendship.  To 
have  a  friend  would  have  been  to  let  some  one  into  his  life, 
and  that  would  have  meant,  sooner  or  later,  the  betrayal  of  the 
woman  he  loved. 

Yet,  though  he  felt  that  Taquisara  was  his  enemy  and  not  his 


V  TAQUISARA  59 

friend,  he  had  such  sudden  confidence  in  the  man's  honour  and 
truth  that  he  was  insanely  impelled  to  go  to  him  and  tell  him 
all,  and  implore  him  to  save  Veronica  at  any  cost,  no  matter 
what,  or  to  whom.  Then  of  course,  a  moment  later,  the 
thought  seemed  madness,  and  he  only  felt  that  he  was  losing 
hold  more  quickly  upon  his  saner  sense.  His  visit  to  the  som 
nambulist,  too,  had  helped  to  unnerve  him,  and  as  he  wandered 
through  the  streets  he  forgot  that  it  was  time  to  eat,  so  that 
physical  faintness  came  upon  him  unawares  and  suddenly. 

He  did  not  wish  to  go  home ;  for  if  he  did,  the  final  decision 
would  be  thrust  upon  him  by  Matilde,  and  he  did  not  feel  that 
he  could  face  another  scene  with  her  yet.  When  he  found 
himself  near  the  Palazzo  Macomer,  he  turned  back,  walking 
slowly,  and  went  towards  the  sea,  till  he  came  to  the  vast  Piazza 
San  Ferdinando,  beyond  San  Carlo.  He  went  into  a  cafe  and 
sat  down  in  a  corner  to  drink  a  cup  of  chocolate  by  way  of 
luncheon.  The  seat  he  had  chosen  was  at  the  end  of  one  of 
the  long  red  velvet  divans  close  to  a  big  window  looking  upon 
the  square.  There  were  little  marble  tables  in  a  row,  and  at 
the  one  before  that  which  Bosio  chose,  a  priest  was  seated, 
reading,  with  an  empty  cup  before  him.  He  was  evidently 
near-sighted,  for  he  held  his  newspaper  so  near  his  eyes  that 
Bosio  could  not  have  seen  his  face  even  had  he  thought  of 
looking  at  it.  The  priest  had  thrown  back  his  heavy  black 
cloak  after  he  had  sat  down,  so  that  it  fell  in  wide  folds  upon 
the  seat,  on  each  side  of  him.  His  hands,  which  held  up  the 
paper,  while  he  seemed  to  be  searching  for  something  in  the 
columns,  were  thin  to  emaciation,  almost  transparent,  and  very 
carefully  kept, — a  fact  which  might  have  argued  that  he  was 
not  an  ordinary,  hardworking  parish  priest  of  the  people,  even 
if  his  presence  in  a  fashionable  cafe  had  not  of  itself  made  that 
seem  improbable.  On  the  other  hand,  he  wore  heavy,  coarse 
shoes ;  his  clothes,  though  well  brushed,  were  visibly  thread 
bare,  and  his  clean  white  stock  was  frayed  at  the  edge  and 
almost  worn  out.  He  had  taken  off  his  three-cornered  hat,  and 
his  high  peaked  head  was  barely  covered  with  scanty  silver-grey 
hair.  When  he  dropped  his  paper  and  looked  about  him  for 
the  waiter,  evidently  wishing  to  pay  for  his  coffee,  he  showed  a 
face  sufficiently  remarkable  to  deserve  description.  The  pro 
minent  feature  was  the  enormous,  beak-like  nose — the  nose  of 
the  fanatic  which  is  not  to  be  mistaken  amongst  thousands, 
with  its  high,  arching  bridge,  its  wide,  sensitive  nostrils,  and  its 


60  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

preternaturally  sharp,  down-turning  point.  But  the  rest  of  the 
priest's  face  was  not  in  keeping  with  what  was  most  striking  in 
it.  The  forehead  was  not  powerful,  narrow,  prominent — but 
rather,  broad  and  imaginative.  The  chin  was  round  and  not 
enough  developed ;  the  clean-shaven  lips  had  a  singularly  gentle 
expression,  and  the  very  near-sighted  blue  eyes  were  not  set 
deeply  enough  to  give  strength  to  the  look.  The  priest  carried 
his  head  somewhat  bent  and  forward,  in  a  sort  of  deprecating 
way,  which  made  his  long  nose  seem  longer,  and  his  short  chin 
more  retreating.  The  skull  was  unusually  high  and  peaked  at 
the  point  where  phrenologists  place  the  organ  of  veneration. 
The  man  himself  was  tall  and  exceedingly  thin,  and  looked  as 
though  he  fasted  too  often  and  too  long.  He  was  certainly  a 
very  ugly  man,  judged  according  to  the  standards  of  human 
beauty;  and  yet  there  was  about  him  an  air  of  kindness  and 
sincerity  which  had  in  it  something  almost  saintly,  together  with 
a  very  unmistakable  individual  identity.  He  was  one  of  those 
men  whom  one  can  neither  forget  nor  mistake  when  one  has 
met  them  once.  Bosio  did  not  notice  him,  being  much  ab 
sorbed  by  his  own  thoughts.  The  waiter  came  to  ask  what  he 
wished,  and  was  stopped  on  his  way  back  by  the  priest,  who 
desired  to  pay  for  what  he  had  taken.  But  Bosio  had  turned 
to  the  window  again,  and  sat  looking  out  and  watching  the 
people  in  the  broad  semicircular  Piazza. 

The  priest,  having  paid  his  little  score,  carefully  folded  his 
newspaper  and  put  it  into  the  wide  pocket  of  his  cassock. 
Then  he  gathered  up  the  collar  of  his  big  cloak  behind  him, 
as  he  sat,  and  began  to  edge  his  way  out  from  behind  the  little 
marble  table.  But  the  long  folds  had  fallen  far  on  each  side — 
so  far  that  Bosio  had  unawares  sat  down  upon  the  cloth,  and 
as  the  priest  tried  to  get  out,  he  felt  the  cloak  being  dragged 
from  under  him.  The  priest  stopped  and  turned,  just  as  Bosio 
rose  with  an  apology  on  his  lips,  which  became  an  exclamation 
of  surprise,  as  he  began  to  speak. 

"  Don  Teodoro  ! "  he  cried.  "  You  were  next  to  me,  and  I 
did  not  see  you  ! " 

The  priest's  eyelids  contracted  to  help  his  imperfect  sight, 
and  he  smiled  as  he  moved  nearer  to  Bosio. 

•'  Bosio  ! "  he  exclaimed,  when  he  had  recognized  him.  "  I 
am  almost  blind,  but  I  was  sure  I  knew  your  voice." 

"  You  are  in  Naples,  and  you  have  not  let  me  know  it?"  said 
Bosio,  reproachfully  and  interrogatively. 


V  TAQUISARA  61 

"I  have  not  been  in  Naples  two  hours,  and  have  just  left  my 
bag  at  my  usual  quarters  with  Don  Matteo.  Then  I  came  here 
to  get  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  now  I  was  going  to  you.  Besides,  it 
is  the  tenth  of  December.  You  know  that  I  always  come  on 
the  tenth  every  year,  and  stay  until  the  twentieth,  in  order  to  be 
back  in  Muro  four  days  before  Christmas.  But  I  am  glad  I 
have  met  you  here,  for  I  should  have  missed  you  at  the  Palazzo." 

"  Yes,"  said  Bosio,  "  I  am  glad  that  we  have  met.  Sit  with 
me,  now,  while  I  drink  a  cup  of  chocolate.  Then  we  will  do 
whatever  you  wish."  He  sat  down  again.  "  I  am  glad  you 
have  come,  Don  Teodoro,"  he  added,  thoughtfully.  "  I  am 
very  glad  you  have  come." 

"  Don  Teodoro  produced  a  pair  of  silver  spectacles  as  he 
reseated  himself,  and  proceeded  to  settle  them  very  carefully  on 
his  enormous  nose.  Then  he  turned  to  Bosio,  and  looked  at 
him. 

"  Have  you  been  ill  ?  "  he  asked,  after  a  careful  scrutiny  of 
the  pallid,  nervous  face. 

"No."  Bosio  looked  out  of  the  window,  avoiding  the  other's 
gaze.  "I  am  nervous  to-day.  I  slept  badly;  and  I  have  been 
walking,  and  have  not  breakfasted.  Oh  !  no — I  am  not  ill.  I 
am  never  ill.  I  have  excellent  health.  And  you?"  He  turned 
to  his  companion  again.  "How  are  you?  Always  the  same?" 

"  Always  the  same,"  answered  the  priest.  "  I  grow  old,  that 
is  the  only  change.  After  all,  it  is  not  a  bad  one,  since  we 
must  change  in  some  way.  It  is  better  than  growing  young — 
better  than  growing  young  again,"  he  repeated,  shaking  his  head 
sadly.  "  Since  the  payment  must  be  made,  it  is  better  that  the 
day  of  reckoning  should  come  nearer,  year  by  year." 

"  For  me  it  has  come,"  said  Bosio,  in  a  low  voice,  and  his 
chin  sank  upon  his  breast,  as  he  leaned  back,  clasping  his  hands 
before  him  on  the  edge  of  the  marble  table.  The  priest  looked 
at  him  anxiously  and  in  silence.  The  two  would  certainly  have 
met  later  in  the  day,  or  on  the  morrow,  and  the  accident  of 
their  meeting  at  the  cafe  had  only  brought  them  together  a  few 
hours  earlier.  For  the  hard-working  country  parish  priest  came 
yearly  to  Naples  for  a  few  days  before  Chustmas,  as  he  had  said, 
and  the  first  visit  he  made,  after  depositing  his  slender  luggage 
at  the  house  of  the  ecclesiastic  with  whom  he  always  stopped, 
was  to  Bosio  Macomer,  his  old  pupil. 

In  his  loneliness,  that  morning,  Bosio  had  thought  of  Don 
Teodoro  and  had  wished  to  see  him.  It  had  occurred  vaguely 


62  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

to  him  that  the  priest  generally  made  a  visit  to  the  city  about 
that  time  of  the  year,  but  he  had  never  realized  that  Don 
Teodoro  always  arrived  on  the  same  day,  the  tenth  of  December, 
and  had  done  so  unfailingly  for  many  years  past. 

Before  he  had  been  curate  of  the  distant  village  of  Muro, 
which  belonged  to  the  Serra  family,  Don  Teodoro  had  been 
tutor  to  Bosio  Macomer.  He  had  lived  in  Naples  as  a  priest  at 
large,  a  student,  and  in  those  days,  to  some  extent,  a  man  of  the 
world.  When  Bosio  was  grown  up,  his  tutor  had  remained  his 
friend — the  only  really  intimate  friend  he  had  in  the  world,  and 
a  true  and  devoted  one.  It  was  perhaps  because  he  was  too 
much  attached  to  Bosio  that  Matilde  Macomer  had  induced 
him  at  last  to  accept  the  parish  in  the  mountains  with  the  chap 
laincy  of  the  ancestral  castle  of  the  Serra, — an  office  which  was 
a  total  sinecure,  as  the  family  had  rarely  gone  thither  to  spend 
a  few  weeks,  even  in  the  days  of  the  late  prince.  Matilde  hated 
the  place  for  its  appalling  gloominess  and  wild  scenery,  and 
Veronica,  to  whom  it  now  belonged,  had  never  seen  it  at  all. 
It  had  the  reputation  of  being  haunted  by  all  manner  of  ghosts 
and  goblins,  and  during  the  first  ten  years  following  the  Italian 
annexation  of  Naples,  the  surrounding  mountains  had  been 
infested  by  outlaws  and  brigands.  But  Don  Teodoro,  as  curate 
and  chaplain,  received  a  considerable  stipend  which  enabled 
him  to  procure  for  himself  books  at  his  pleasure,  when  he  could 
bring  himself  to  curtail  the  daily  and  yearly  charities  in  which 
he  spent  almost  all  he  received. 

He  was,  indeed,  a  man  torn  between  two  inclinations  which 
almost  amounted  to  passions, — charity  and  the  love  of  learning, 
— and  their  action  was  so  evenly  balanced  that  it  was  a  real 
pain  to  him  either  to  deny  himself  the  book  he  coveted,  or  to 
forfeit  the  pleasure  of  giving  the  money  it  would  cost  to  the 
poor.  He  had  sometimes  kept  the  last  note  he  had  left  at  the 
end  of  the  month  for  many  days,  quite  unable  to  decide  whether 
he  should  send  it  to  Naples  for  a  new  volume,  or  buy  clothes 
with  it  for  some  half-clad  child.  So  sincere  was  he  in  both 
longings,  that  after  he  had  disposed  of  the  money  in  one  way 
or  the  other,  he  almost  invariably  had  an  acute  fit  of  self- 
reproach.  His  common  sense  alone  told  him  that  when  he 
had  given  away  nine-tenths  of  all  he  received,  he  had  the  right 
to  spend  the  other  tenth  upon  such  food  for  his  mind  as  was 
almost  more  indispensable  to  him  than  bread.  But,  besides 
this,  he  had  been  engaged  for  twenty  years  upon  a  history  of 


v  TAQUISARA  63 

the  Church,  in  compiling  which  he  believed  he  was  doing  a 
work  of  the  highest  importance  to  mankind;  so  that  it  appeared 
to  him  a  duty  to  expend,  from  time  to  time,  a  certain  amount  of 
money  in  order  to  procure  such  books,  old  and  new,  as  were 
necessary  for  his  studies.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  seasons 
themselves  decided  his  conduct  in  these  difficulties;  for  in  cold 
weather,  or  times  of  scarcity,  his  charity  outran  his  desire  for 
books ;  whereas,  in  the  warm  weather,  and  when  there  was 
plenty,  and  no  pitiful  starved  faces  gathered  about  his  door,  he 
bought  books,  instead  of  searching  for  the  few  who  were  still  in 
need. 

In  his  youth,  Don  Teodoro  had  travelled  much.  He  had 
accompanied  a  mission  to  Africa  at  the  beginning  of  his  life, 
and  had  afterwards  wandered  about  Europe,  being  at  that  time, 
as  yet,  more  studious  than  charitable,  and  possessed  of  a  small 
independence  left  him  by  his  father,  who  had  been  an  officer  in 
the  Neapolitan  army  in  the  old  days.  He  had  seen  many  things 
and  known  many  men  of  many  nations,  before  he  had  at  last 
settled  in  Muro,  in  the  little  priest's  house,  under  the  shadow 
of  the  dismal  castle,  and  close  to  the  church.  There  he  lived 
now,  all  the  year  round,  excepting  the  ten  days  which  he 
annually  spent  in  Naples.  The  little  house  was  full  of  books, 
and  there  was  a  big,  old  shaky  press,  containing  his  manu 
scripts,  the  work  of  his  whole  life.  He  had  neither  friends  nor 
companions  of  his  own  class,  but  he  was  beloved  by  all  the 
people.  Playing  on  his  name,  Teodoro,  in  their  dialect,  they 
called  him,  '  O  prevete  d'oro ' — '  the  priest  of  gold.'  And  many 
said  that  he  had  performed  miracles,  when  he  had  fasted  in 
Lent. 

This  was  practically  Bosio  Macomer's  only  intimate  friend. 
For  although  the  intimacy  had  been  interrupted  for  years  by 
circumstances,  it  had  never  been  checked  by  any  action  or 
word  of  either.  It  is  true  that  neither  was,  as  a  rule,  in  need 
of  friendship,  nor  desirous  of  cultivating  it.  Learning  and 
charity  absorbed  the  priest's  whole  life.  Bosio's  existence,  of 
which  Don  Teodoro  knew  in  reality  nothing,  had  moved  in  the 
vicious  circle  of  a  single  passion,  which  he  could  never  acknow 
ledge,  and  which  excluded,  for  common  caution's  sake,  anything 
like  intimacy  with  other  men.  But  Bosio  had  not  ceased  to 
look  upon  the  priest  as  the  best  man  he  had  ever  known,  and, 
in  spite  of  his  own  errings,  he  was  still  quite  able  to  appreciate 
goodness  in  others ;  and  Don  Teodoro  had  always  remembered 


64  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

his  pupil  as  one  of  the  few  men  to  whom  he  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  speak  freely  of  his  hopes,  and  sympathies,  and  aspira 
tions,  feeling  sure  of  appreciation  from  a  nature  at  once  refined 
and  reticent,  though  itself  hard  to  understand.  For  Don  Teo- 
doro  was,  strange  to  say,  painfully  sensitive  to  ridicule,  though 
in  all  other  respects  a  singularly  brave  man,  morally  and 
physically.  As  a  child  or  as  a  boy,  he  had  been  laughed  at 
by  his  companions  for  his  extraordinary  nose  and  his  short 
sight ;  and  he  had  never  recovered  from  the  childish  suffering 
thus  inflicted  upon  him  by  thoughtless  children.  The  fear  of 
being  ridiculous  had  largely  influenced  him  through  life,  and 
had  really  contributed  much  towards  deciding  him  to  accept 
the  cure  of  the  wild  mountain  town. 

Bosio's  almost  solemn  words,  as  his  chin  fell  upon  his  breast, 
and  he  clasped  his  hands  before  him,  suddenly  recalled  to  the 
priest  the  years  they  had  spent  together,  the  confidence  there 
had  been  between  them,  the  interest  he  had  once  felt  in  Bosio's 
fortune, — as  an  object  once  daily  familiar,  and  fresh  once  and 
not  without  beauty,  then  long  hidden  for  years,  and  coming 
suddenly  to  sight  again,  moth-eaten,  dusty,  and  all  but  de 
stroyed,  is  oddly  painful  to  him  who  used  it  long  ago,  and 
then  sees  it  when  it  is  fit  only  to  be  thrown  away. 

"You  are  suffering,"  said  Don  Teodoro,  leaning  forward  upon 
the  marble  table  and  peering  through  his  silver-rimmed  spec 
tacles  into  Bosio's  pale  face,  and  gentle,  exhausted  eyes. 

The  priest's  nervous,  emaciated  hand  softly  pressed  the  sleeve 
of  the  younger  man's  coat,  and  the  fantastic  features  grew 
wonderfully  gentle  and  kind.  It  was  the  transformation  that 
came  over  them  whenever  any  one  was  visibly  poor,  or  starving, 
or  sorrowing,  or  hurt, — the  change  which  a  beautiful  passion 
brings  to  the  ugliest  face  in  the  world. 

Bosio  smiled  faintly  as  he  saw  it,  and  a  little  hope  was 
breathed  into  his  heart,  as  though  somewhere,  at  some  im 
measurable  distance,  there  might  be  a  possibility  of  salvation 
from  the  ruin  and  wreck  of  his  horrible  life. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  I  am  suffering.  It  is  a  great  suffering. 
I  do  not  think  that  I  can  live  much  longer." 

"  Can  I  do  nothing  ?  "  asked  Don  Teodoro. 

Bosio  still  smiled,  as  a  man  smiles  in  torture  when  one 
speaks  to  him  of  peace. 

"  If  I  believed  that  anything  could  be  done,"  he  said,  "  I 
should  not  suffer  as  I  do.  I  have  lived  a  bad  life,  and  the 


v  TAQUISARA  65 

time  has  come  when  I  must  pay  the  score.  But  it  is  not  my 
fault  if  things  are  as  they  are — it  is  not  all  my  fault." 

The  priest  sighed,  and  looked  away  after  a  moment. 

"  We  have  all  done  some  one  great  wrong  thing  in  our 
lives,"  he  said,  gently.  "  The  price  may  perhaps  be  paid  to 
God  in  good,  as  well  as  to  man  in  pain." 


CHAPTER  VI 

Bosio  shook  his  head,  and  a  long  silence  followed.  Once 
or  twice  he  roused  himself,  stirred  the  cup  of  chocolate  which 
the  waiter  had  set  before  him,  and  sipped  a  teaspoonful  of 
it  absently.  The  corner  where  the  two  men  sat  together  was 
quiet,  but  from  the  front  of  the  cafd  came  the  continual  clatter 
of  plates  and  glasses,  the  echo  of  feet,  and  the  ring  of  voices ; 
for  it  was  just  midday,  and  the  place  was  full  of  its  habitual 
frequenters. 

"  If  we  were  in  church,"  said  Bosio  at  last,  "  and  if  you  were 
in  a  confessional — 

He  stopped,  and  glanced  at  his  companion  without  com 
pleting  the  sentence. 

"  You  would  make  a  confession?  There  are  churches  near," 
said  Don  Teodoro.  "  I  am  ready.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

Bosio  hesitated. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  could  tell  you  nothing  without 
betraying  others." 

"  Betraying !  Is  it  a  crime  that  you  have  on  your  con 
science  ?  "  The  priest's  voice  was  low  and  troubled. 

"  Many  crimes,"  answered  Bosio.  "  The  crimes  that  must 
come,  and  that  I  cannot  prevent  by  living,  nor  hinder  by  dying." 

Again  there  was  silence  during  several  minutes. 

"  You  may  trust  me  as  a  friend,  even  if,  as  a  priest,  you  could 
not  confess  all  the  circumstances  to  me,"  said  Don  Teodoro, 
after  the  long  pause.  "  I  do  not  wish  you  to  make  confidences 
to  me,  unless  you  are  impelled  to  do  so.  But  you  are  in  that 
frame  of  mind,  my  dear  Bosio,  in  which  a  man  will  sooner 
or  later  unburden  himself  to  some  one.  You  might  do  worse 
than  choose  me.  I  am  your  friend,  I  am  old,  and  I  know  that 
I  am  discreet.  I  am  extraordinarily  discreet.  It  may  seem 

E 


66  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

strange  that  I  should  say  so  myself,  but  my  own  life  has  taught 
me  that  I  am  to  be  trusted  with  secrets." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bosio.  "  You  must  have  heard  trange  things 
sometimes  under  the  seal  of  confession." 

"  I  have  known  of  strange  things."  Don  Teodoro's  face  grew 
sad  and  thoughtful,  and  Bosio,  seeing  it,  suddenly  made  up  his 
mind. 

He  leaned  far  back  against  the  painted  wall  for  a  moment, 
with  half-closed  eyes.  Then  he  drew  nearer  to  his  friend,  so 
that  he  spoke  close  to  the  latter's  ear,  though  he  looked  down 
at  the  table  before  him.  His  nervous  fingers  played  with  the 
teaspoon  in  the  saucer  of  his  cup. 

It  was  a  strange  confession,  there  in  the  corner  of  the 
crowded  cafe  at  midday,  and  those  who  glanced  idly  at  the  two 
men  from  a  distance  would  hardly  have  guessed  that  an  act  in 
a  mysterious  life  was  before  their  eyes — an  act  which  was  itself 
but  a  verbal  recapitulation  of  many  actions  past,  but  which 
to  the  speaker  had  an  enormous  importance  of  its  own,  and  an 
influence  on  the  future  of  all  concerned. 

Not  much  had  been  needed  to  break  through  the  barrier 
of  Bosio's  reticence.  Walking  through  the  streets  that  morning 
he  had  for  a  moment  even  thought  of  telling  some  of  his  story 
to  Taquisara.  It  was  far  easier  to  tell  it  to  the  only  true  friend 
he  had  in  the  world,  to  one  in  whom  he  had  confided  as  a  boy 
and  had  trusted  as  a  young  man.  He  told  almost  all.  He 
confessed  that  his  love  of  many  years  had  been  his  brother's 
wife,  and  though  he  spoke  no  word  of  her  love  for  him,  the  old 
priest  knew  the  evil  truth  from  the  man's  tone  and  look.  For 
the  rest  he  spared  neither  Matilde  nor  any  one  else,  but  told 
Don  Teodoro  all  the  truth,  and  all  his  anxious  fears  for 
Veronica's  safety,  if  he  should  not  marry  her,  with  all  his  horror 
of  his  own  shame  if  he  should  yield  to  the  pressure  brought 
upon  him. 

Don  Teodoro's  expression  changed  more  than  once  while  he 
listened,  but  he  never  turned  his  head  nor  moved  in  his  seat. 

"You  see  what  I  am,"  said  Bosio,  at  last.  "You  see  what 
my  people  are.  Indeed,  I  need  a  confessor,  if  one  could  save 
my  soul ;  but  I  need  a  friend  even  more,  for  through  me  that 
poor  girl  is  in  danger  of  her  life.  That  is  her  choice — to  die  or 
to  be  my  wife.  Mine  is,  to  see  her  murdered  or  to  do  an 
unutterably  shameful  thing — or  to  see  the  woman  I  love  driven 
out  of  the  world  with  infamy  for  the  crime  she  has  not  com- 


vi  TAQUISARA  67 

mitted,  and  the  fear  of  that  disgrace  is  making  her  mad.  It  is 
for  her,  and  for  Veronica !  What  do  I  care  about  myself? 
What  have  I  left  to  care  for  ?  What  I  have  done,  I  have  done. 
I  am  not  good,  I  am  not  religious,  I  am  perhaps  a  worse  sinner 
than  most  men,  and  a  poorer  believer  than  many.  But  I  will 
not  be  the  instrument  of  these  deeds — and  yet,  if  I  refuse — 
there  is  death,  or  shame,  or  both,  to  those  I  love  !  At  least  I 
have  spoken,  and  you  will  not  betray  me.  It  has  been  a  relief, 
a  moment's  respite  from  torture.  I  thank  you  for  it,  my  friend, 
and  I  wish  I  could  repay  you.  You  cannot  give  me  advice,  for 
I  have  twisted  and  turned  it  all  in  fifty  ways,  and  there  is 
no  escape.  You  cannot  help  me,  for  no  one  can.  But  you 
have  done  me  some  little  momentary  good,  just  by  sitting  there 
and  hearing  my  story.  Beyond  that  there  is  nothing  to  be 
done." 

The  wretched  man  closed  his  eyes,  and  again  leaned  back 
against  the  bright  red  wall,  which  threw  his  white  face  and 
dark-ringed  eyes  into  strong  and  painful  relief.  Don  Teodoro 
was  silent,  bending  his  mind  upon  the  hideous  problem.  Bosio 
misunderstood  him  and  spoke  again  without  moving. 

"  I  know,"  he  said.  "  You  need  not  speak.  I  know  by 
heart  all  the  reproaches  I  deserve,  and  I  know  that  no  human 
being,  much  less  a  holy  man  like  yourself,  could  possibly  feel 
anything  but  horror  at  all  this — " 

"  I  am  very  far  from  being  a  holy  man,"  interrupted  the 
priest.  "  If  I  feel  horror,  it  is  for  what  has  been,  and  may  be, 
but  not  for  you.  Bosio — "  he  hesitated  a  moment.  "  Will  you 
come  with  me  to  Muro,  and  leave  all  this?"  he  asked  suddenly. 
"  Will  you  come  out  of  the  world  for  a  while  ?  No — I  am  not 
proposing  to  you  to  make  a  religious  retreat.  I  wish  I  could. 
I  know  the  world,  and  you,  and  your  people,  for  I  lived  long 
among  you,  and  I  know  that  one  cannot  change  one's  soul,  as 
one  changes  one's  coat — nor  enter  upon  a  retreat  as  one  springs 
into  the  sea  for  a  bath  in  hot  weather.  What  you  have  made 
yourself,  you  are.  Heaven  itself  would  need  time  to  unmake 
you.  I  speak  just  as  one  man  to  another.  Come  with  me  to 
the  mountains  for  a  week,  a  month — as  long  as  you  will.  It  is 
dreary  and  cold,  and  you  will  have  to  eat  what  you  can  get ; 
but  you  will  have  peace,  for  nobody  will  come  up  there  to 
disturb  you.  Meanwhile,  something  may  happen.  You  are 
over-wrought  by  all  you  have  seen  and  heard  and  felt.  What 
ever  the  countess  may  have  said,  Donna  Veronica  is  quite  safe. 


68  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

My  dear  Bosio,  people  in  your  rank  of  life  do  not  murder  one 
another  for  money  nowadays.  It  is  laughable,  the  mere  idea 
of  it—" 

"  Laughable  !"  Bosio  turned  and  looked  at  him.  "  If  you 
had  seen  her  eyes,  you  would  find  it  hard  to  laugh,  I  think. 
Such  things  happen  rarely,  perhaps,  but  they  happen  some 
times." 

Don  Teodoro  was  not  persuaded.  He  thought  that  Bosio, 
in  his  excited  state,  very  much  over-estimated  the  danger. 

"  At  all  events,"  he  said,  "  nothing  will  happen,  so  long  as 
there  is  the  possibility  that  you  may  marry  her.  If  you  come 
with  me,  you  will  at  least  have  time  to  think  before  acting. 
But  here,  you  may  be  forced  to  act  before  you  have  been  able 
to  think." 

But  Bosio  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"  There  are  difficulties  which  can  be  helped  by  putting  them 
off,"  he  answered.  "  This  is  not  one.  You  forget  that  in  just 
three  weeks  my  brother  will  be  ruined — absolutely  ruined — if 
he  cannot  pay.  If  I  stayed  that  time  with  you,  I  should  come 
back  to  find  him  a  beggar — or  obliged  to  throw  himself  upon 
Veronica's  mercy  and  charity  for  his  daily  bread  and  for  a  roof 
to  cover  him." 

"There  is  one  other  way,"  said  the  priest,  thoughtfully. 
"  There  is  one  thing  left  for  you  to  do,  if  you  have  courage  to 
do  it.  And  you  know  better  than  I  what  chance  there  would 
be  of  success.  It  is  what  I  should  do  myself.  It  is  a  heroic 
remedy,  but  it  may  save  everything  yet." 

Bosio's  eyes  turned  anxiously  to  his  friend,  by  way  of 
question. 

"Find  Veronica  alone,"  said  Don  Teodoro.  "Take  all 
rights  into  your  own  hands  and  tell  her  everything,  just  as  you 
have  told  me.  You  know  her  well.  If  she  is  kind-hearted,  as 
I  think  she  is,  she  will  pay  your  brother's  debts,  take  over  the 
estates  herself,  since  it  is  time,  and  manage  that  Cardinal  Cam- 
podonico  shall  never  suspect  that  there  has  been  anything 
wrong  with  the  administration.  If  she  is  not  so  charitable  as 
to  do  that  of  her  own  free  will,  why  then,  since  you  believe  it, 
tell  her  that  she  must  do  it  to  save  her  life.  It  is  most  unlikely 
that  she  will  refuse  and  take  refuge  with  the  cardinal  in  order 
to  bring  public  disgrace  upon  her  father's  sister.  And  even 
that,  horrible  as  it  seems  to  you — if  it  must  be,  it  will  be,  and  it 
will  not  be  your  fault — " 


VI  TAQUISARA  69 

"  But  Matilde — "  Bosio  began  in  troubled  tones.  "  And  yet, 
perhaps,  it  is  possible.  Veronica  would  not  be  so  cruel  as  to 
ruin  them — the  money  is  nothing  to  her.  And,  after  all,  she 
will  hardly  feel  the  loss  out  of  her  immense  fortune.  Yes — " 
his  face  brightened  slowly  with  the  rays  of  hope.  "Yes — it 
may  be  possible,  after  all.  I  had  thought  of  going  to  her,  but 
not  of  telling  her  the  whole  truth.  It  did  not  seem  as  though 
I  could,  until  I  had  heard  myself  tell  it  to  you.  It  will  be  hard, 
but  it  seems  possible,  and  it  will  save  her — and  then — " 

His  face  changed  again,  as  he  broke  off  in  the  sentence,  and 
his  melancholy  eyes  turned  slowly  to  his  friend. 

"  And  then,"  said  Don  Teodoro,  "  perhaps  you  will  go  back 
with  me  to  Muro,  and  rest  and  forget  it  all." 

"Yes,"  answered  Bosio,  sadly  and  dreamily,  "perhaps  I 
shall  go  to  Muro  with  you.  I  wonder,"  he  continued,  after 
a  short  pause,  "  that  you  should  want  such  a  man  as  I  am  in 
your  priest's  house  there." 

"  Oh !  I  am  glad  of  a  little  society  when  I  can  get  it,  and 
I  have  much  to  show  you  which  might  interest  you.  I  have 
worked  perpetually  for  many  years,  since  we  used  to  talk  about 
my  history  of  the  Church." 

He  checked  himself.  In  spite  of  all  he  had  just  heard,  and 
the  real  distress  and  sympathy  he  had  felt  for  Bosio,  the  one  of 
his  dominant  passions  which  was  uppermost  just  then  had 
almost  made  him  forget  everything,  and  launch  into  an  account 
of  his  work  and  studies.  Men  who,  intellectually,  are  deeply 
engrossed  in  one  matter,  and  who.,  socially,  have  long  lived 
very  lonely  lives,  are  not  generally  able  to  lose  themselves  in 
sympathy  for  others.  As  Bosio  was  not  exactly  an  object  for 
Don  Teodoro's  charity,  he  was  in  some  danger  of  being  made 
a  listener  for  the  outpouring  of  the  priest's  tremendous  in 
tellectual  enthusiasm.  But  the  latter  checked  himself.  The 
things  he  had  heard  were  indeed  of  a  nature  not  so  easily 
forgotten.  He  went  back  to  them  at  once. 

"  My  dear  Bosio,"  he  began  again,  "  do  not  put  yourself 
down  as  the  worst  of  men.  It  is  just  as  bad  to  go  too  far 
in  one  direction  as  in  the  other.  There  is  undoubtedly,  in 
theory,  the  man  in  the  world,  at  any  given  moment,  who  must 
be  a  little  worse  than  any  other  living  man ;  but  though  he 
might  be  our  next-door  neighbour,  we  have  no  means  whatever 
of  knowing  that  he  is  the  greatest  sinner  alive,  because  we  do 
not  know  all  about  all  existing  sinners.  Consequently,  and  for 


70  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

the  same  reason,  no  man  has  any  right  to  assume  that  he  is 
worst  of  men.  And  as  far  as  that  goes,  many  men  have  done 
worse  things,  even  in  the  religious  view,  than  you  have  done, 
and  very  much  worse  things,  in  the  opinion  of  society.  You 
are  not  responsible  for  all  that  the  others  have  done.  You 
are  only  responsible  in  the  immediate  future  for  your  share 
of  duty,  in  doing  the  wisest  and  best  thing  which  may  present 
itself.  And  if  you  can  induce  Donna  Veronica  to  forgive  your 
brother  and  your  brother's  wife,  by  telling  her  the  truth  without 
prevarication,  you  will  have  done  something  to  atone  for  the 
past  evil  which  you  cannot  undo.  I  am  not  preaching  to  you, 
my  dear  friend.  Pray  look  upon  me  as  a  man  and  not  as 
a  priest.  Indeed,  I  would  rather  that  you  should  never  think 
of  me  as  a  priest  at  all.  If  you  need  spiritual  help,  there  are 
many  better  men  than  I,  who  can  give  it  to  you.  But  as  a 
man  and  a  friend,  come  to  me  if  you  will.  You  are  to  me  also 
a  man  and  a  friend,  and  not  a  penitent." 

He  finished  speaking,  took  off  his  spectacles,  and  rested  his 
head  against  the  wall  behind  him,  as  Bosio  had  done,  and  the 
younger  man  glanced  sideways  at  his  friend's  extraordinary 
profile.  Its  fantastic  outline  had  a  moral  effect  upon  him ;  for 
it  recalled,  as  nothing  else  could,  the  early  days  of  his  life 
before  he  had  been  what  he  now  was,  when  he  had  known  what 
hope  meant,  and  had  understood  aspirations  in  others  which 
had  no  meaning  for  him  now.  He  was  very  grateful,  too,  for 
Don  Teodoro's  words,  which  certainly  comforted  him  in  a  way 
he  had  not  expected. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  "  I  will  think  of  it.  I  think  I  shall 
take  your  advice  and  speak  to  Veronica.  She  can  save  us  all, 
if  she  will." 

"Yes,"  said  Don  Teodoro.  "She  can  save  you  all — and 
she  will." 

Then  they  sat  a  long  time  in  silence  in  their  corner,  and  the 
priest's  mind  wandered  occasionally  to  the  thought  of  his 
manuscript,  and  of  the  many  points  he  intended  to  discuss  with 
his  friend  Don  Matteo,  a  man  as  learned  as  himself,  but  in 
dolent  instead  of  active,  one  of  those  passive,  living  treasuries 
of  thought  upon  which  the  active  worker  fastens  greedily  when 
he  has  a  chance,  to  extract  all  the  riches  he  can  in  the  shortest 
possible  time,  in  any  shape,  to  carry  the  gold  away  with  him  to 
his  workshop  and  fashion  it  to  his  wish. 

And  Bosio,  whose  intelligence  was  essentially  dramatic  and 


VI  TAQUISARA  71 

given  to  throwing  future  interviews  into  an  imaginary  dramatic 
shape,  thought  over  and  over  what  he  would  say  to  Veronica 
and  what  she  might  be  expected  to  say  to  him.  But  he  was 
terribly  exhausted  and  harassed,  and  by  degrees  as  the  stimu 
lant  of  recent  comfort  lost  its  cheering  warmth  within  him, 
he  silently  grew  despondent  again  within  himself,  and  his 
dramatic  fancies  of  fear  became  near  and  tragic  realities.  He 
thought  he  could  hear  the  clear,  bell-like  voice  of  the  som 
nambulist  telling  him  that  he  should  be  forced  to  marry 
Veronica. 

At  last,  realizing  that  he  was  probably  detaining  Don  Teo- 
doro,  he  roused  himself,  and  the  two  went  out  together  into  the 
broad  light  of  the  Piazza  San  Ferdinando. 

"  I  will  go  home,"  Bosio  said.  "  I  will  think  of  it  all.  At 
this  time  I  can  easily  be  alone  with  Veronica." 

His  voice  sounded  as  though  he  were  speaking  to  himself, 
and  his  head  was  bent,  so  that  he  stooped  from  the  neck  as 
Don  Teodoro  did.  But  the  latter,  as  he  walked,  his  silver- 
rimmed  spectacles  balanced  on  his  great  nose,  thrust  his  bent 
head  more  forward.  Or  rather,  it  was  as  though  his  head 
moved  first  in  the  direction  he  meant  to  follow,  while  his  thin 
legs  had  difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  it. 

Bosio  was  willing  to  put  off  the  moment  of  going  home  as 
long  as  possible,  and  he  accompanied  his  friend  to  the  door 
of  Don  Matteo's  lodging,  which  was  in  a  clean,  quiet,  sunlit 
street,  behind  the  Piazza — in  one  of  those  oases  of  light  and 
cleanliness  upon  which  one  sometimes  comes  in  the  heart  of 
Naples.  The  little  green  door  was  reached  by  a  couple  of 
steps  up  from  the  level  of  the  street.  Don  Teodoro  had  a 
key  and  stood  on  the  upper  step,  holding  it  in  his  hand  and 
blinking  in  the  warm  sunshine. 

"  You  know  this  house,"  he  said.  "  You  have  been  to  see 
me  here  once  or  twice.  If  you  want  me,  you  can  always  send 
for  me  in  the  afternoon,  for  I  only  go  out  in  the  morning. 
But  I  will  come  and  see  you.  When?  To-morrow,  before 
noon  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Bosio  answered.  "  By  to-morrow  at  midday  some 
thing  will  be  decided." 

They  shook  hands  and  parted,  Bosio  turning  eastward  in  the 
direction  of  his  home.  The  priest  absently  tried  to  insert  the 
key  in  the  lock  of  the  door,  while  his  eyes  followed  his  friend 
to  the  corner  of  the  street.  Then,  as  Bosio's  still  graceful 


72  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

figure  disappeared,  he  turned  from  the  keyhole  with  a  sigh,  and 
let  himself  in. 

Bosio  walked  rapidly  at  first,  and  then  more  slowly  as  he 
came  nearer  to  the  old  quarter  in  which  the  Palazzo  Macomer 
was  situated.  As  with  all  men  of  such  character,  his  irre 
solution  increased  just  when  he  fancied  that  he  was  about  to  do 
something  decisive.  He  would  not  have  hesitated  in  the  same 
way,  if  he  had  been  called  upon  to  face  a  physical  danger; 
for  though  he  was  certainly  no  hero,  he  was  by  no  means  a 
physical  coward,  and  in  a  quarrel  he  would  have  stood  up 
bravely  enough  to  face  his  antagonist.  But  this  was  very 
different.  He  had  been  ruled  by  Matilde  Macomer  through 
many  years,  and  when  he  thought  of  meeting  her  he  had  a 
deadly  presentiment  of  assured  defeat.  She  would  extract 
from  him  something  more  than  the  silent  assent  which  he  had 
been  forced  into  giving  on  the  previous  evening,  and  she  could 
not  let  him  go  till  he  promised  to  marry  Veronica.  He  walked 
more  slowly,  as  he  felt  the  fear  and  uncertainty  twisting  his 
scant  courage  from  his  heart. 

Then  he  was  ashamed  of  himself,  and  in  a  sudden  attempt 
to  be  brave  he  hailed  a  passing  cab  and  drove  rapidly  to  the 
Palazzo  Macomer.  He  asked  for  Veronica  and  was  told  that 
she  was  in  her  room.  He  did  not  wish  to  send  her  a  message. 
Gregorio  had  gone  out  immediately  after  the  midday  breakfast. 
Bosio  was  glad  of  that.  He  had  not  seen  his  brother  since  the 
previous  evening,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  see  him  alone. 
There  were  monstrous  wrongs  on  both  sides,  and  it  was  better 
to  pretend  mutual  ignorance,  and  keep  up  the  ghastly  farce, 
pretending  that  nothing  was  the  matter.  The  very  smallest 
incautious  word  would  crack  the  swaying  bubble  that  was 
blown  to  bursting  with  hell's  breath. 

Bosio  had  entered  the  main  apartments  in  order  to  inquire 
for  Veronica,  had  passed  through  the  long  outer  hall  with  its 
red  walls,  its  matted  floor  and  its  great  table  covered  with 
green  baize,  to  the  antechamber  within,  where,  with  some 
ostentation,  as  Bosio  had  always  thought,  Gregorio  had  hung 
up  the  escutcheon  with  the  quartered  arms  of  Macomer  and 
Serra,  flanked  by  half  a  dozen  big  old  family  portraits  on  either 
side,  opposite  the  three  windows.  He  had  waited  there  until 
the  footman  returned  after  looking  for  Veronica  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  when  he  heard  that  she  was  not  there,  he  turned  to 
reach  the  staircase  again  and  go  up  to  his  own  bachelor's 


VI  TAQUISARA  73 

quarters,  for  he  feared  to  meet  Matilde  and  hoped  to  put  off 
seeing  her  until  dinner-time,  when  he  might  so  manoeuvre  as 
not  to  be  left  alone  with  her. 

But  the  footman  had  hardly  delivered  his  answer,  and  Bosio 
was  in  the  act  of  turning,  when  one  of  the  two  masked  doors 
under  the  pictures  opened  suddenly  and  Matilde  spoke  into 
the  room,  calling  him  by  name.  He  turned  pale  and  stopped 
short,  as  though  a  cold  hand  had  taken  him  by  the  throat. 
The  footman  went  out  to  the  hall,  as  Bosio  met  Matilde's  eyes. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  briefly,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

He  obeyed  silently,  and  followed  her  through  the  narrow 
door  and  through  a  passage  beyond,  to  her  own  morning- 
room.  Matilde  shut  the  door.  The  afternoon  sun  streamed 
in  through  two  high  windows,  filling  every  corner  with  light 
and  turning  the  crimson  carpet  blood  red,  where  Matilde 
stood,  all  round  her  feet  and  the  folds  of  her  loose  dark  gown, 
so  that  she  seemed  to  rise  out  of  a  pool  of  vivid  colour,  a  dark, 
strong  figure  with  the  brightness  all  behind  her  and  the  gleam 
of  her  eyes  just  lightening  in  the  shadow  of  her  face. 

"  Why  did  you  go  out  without  seeing  me  this  morning  ? " 
she  asked,  in  a  hard  tone.  "  And  why  did  Taquisara  come  to 
see  you  early  ?  You  scarcely  know  him — " 

"  I  certainly  did  not  send  for  him,"  said  Bosio,  uneasily. 

"  He  did  not  come  for  nothing,"  retorted  Matilde.  "  He  is 
no  friend  of  yours.  He  must  have  come  for  some  particular 
reason." 

.  Bosio  said  nothing,  but  turned  from  her  and  moved  towards 
a  table  covered  with  books.  In  an  objectless  way  he  opened 
a  volume  and  looked  at  the  title  page.  Matilde  followed  him 
with  her  eyes. 

"  Well  ? "  she  said,  presently,  "  I  am  waiting.  What  did 
Taquisara  have  to  say?  He  is  Gianluca's  friend — he  came 
with  a  message.  That  is  clear.  What  did  he  say?  I  am 
waiting  to  hear." 

"  He  came  because  he  chose  to  come,"  answered  Bosio,  still 
looking  at  the  title  page  of  the  book.  "  Gianluca  did  not  send 
him.  He  wished  to  know  whether  it  were  true  that  I  was  to 
marry  Veronica." 

"  I  thought  so.  And  what  did  you  answer  ?  Of  course  you 
told  him  that  it  was  quite  settled." 

"  We  had  a  long  conversation — I  do  not  remember  all  that 
we  said — " 


74  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  You  do  not  remember  whether  you  told  him  that  you  were 
to  marry  Veronica  or  not?"  Matilde  laughed  angrily  and  came 
forward. 

"  Let  that  book  alone  ! "  she  said,  imperiously.  "  Look  at 
me — so — now  tell  me  the  truth  ! " 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  not  gently,  and  she 
made  him  turn  to  her.  Bosio  felt  that  shock  of  shame  which 
smites  a  man  in  the  back,  as  it  were,  when  a  woman  is  too 
strong  for  him  and  orders  him  brutally  to  do  her  will. 

"  I  told  him  the  truth,"  he  answered,  and  his  pale  cheeks 
reddened  with  futile  anger. 

"The  truth!"  Matilde's  face  darkened.  "What?  What  did 
you  tell  him  ?  " 

Bosio  was  weakly  glad  to  have  frightened  her  a  little. 

"  The  truth,"  he  said,  trying  to  assume  a  certain  indifference. 
"Just  that.  I  let  him  understand  that  nothing  is  definitely 
settled  yet,  and  that  there  is  no  contract — " 

Matilde  was  silent,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  draw  nearer 
together,  while  the  smooth  red  lips  curled  scornfully. 

"  Oh,  what  a  coward  you  are  ! "  she  cried,  in  a  low  voice,  in 
deep  disgust,  and  as  she  spoke  she  dropped  his  arm  in  con 
tempt,  though  she  still  held  his  face  with  her  angry  gaze. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  call  me  a  coward,"  answered  Bosio, 
defending  his  manhood.  "  I  told  you  that  I  could  not  do  it. 
The  man  put  it  in  such  a  way  that  I  had  to  give  him  a  definite 
answer.  For  your  sake  I  would  not  deny  the  engagement 
altogether — " 

"  For  my  sake  ! "  exclaimed  Matilde.  "  Do  not  use  such 
phrases  to  me.  They  mean  nothing.  For  some  wretched 
quibble  of  your  miserable  conscience — as  you  still  have  the 
assumption  to  call  it — you  will  ruin  us  in  another  day." 

"  Yes,  I  still  have  some  conscience,"  replied  Bosio,  trying  to 
be  bold  under  her  scornful  eyes.  "  I  would  not  let  Taquisara 
think  that  you  and  Gregorio  had  lied,  and  I  would  not  lie 
myself— 

"  You  are  reforming,  then  ?    You  choose  the  moment  well ! " 

"  I  have  told  you  what  passed  between  Taquisara  and  me," 
said  Bosio.  "That  was  what  you  wished  to  know.  I  will  judge 
of  myself  whether  I  did  right  or  not." 

He  turned  from  her  and  walked  away,  towards  the  door. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said,  not  moving,  for  she  knew  that  her  voice 
would  stop  him. 


VI  TAQUISARA  75 

"  Is  there  anything  else  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  again  and  stand 
ing  still. 

"  There  is  much  more.  Come  back  !  Sit  down  and  talk  to 
me  like  a  sensible  being.  There  is  much  to  be  said.  The 
matter  is  all  but  settled  in  spite  of  the  account  which  Taquisara 
frightened  you  into  giving  him.  I  like  that  man,  he  is  so  brave ! 
He  is  not  at  all  like  you." 

"If  you  wish  me  to  stay  longer,  you  must  not  insult  me 
again,"  said  Bosio,  not  yet  seating  himself,  but  resting  his  hands 
on  the  back  of  a  chair  as  he  stood.  "  You  know  very  well  that 
I  am  no  more  a  coward,  if  it  comes  to  fighting  men,  than  others 
are.  One  need  not  be  cowardly  to  dread  doing  such  a  thing  as 
you  are  trying  to  force  me  to." 

"  It  does  not  seem  such  a  very  terrible  thing,"  said  Matilde, 
her  tone  suddenly  changing  and  growing  thoughtful.  "It  really 
does  not  seem  to  me  such  a  dreadful  thing  that  you  should  be 
Veronica's  husband.  Of  course  I  do  not  speak  of  the  material 
advantages.  You  were  always  an  idealist,  Bosio — you  do  not 
care  for  those  things,  and  I  daresay  that  when  you  are  married 
you  will  not  even  care  to  take  her  titles,  nor  to  spend  much  of 
her  money.  I  know  well  enough  what  passes  in  your  mind. 
Sit  down.  Let  us  talk  about  it.  We  cannot  afford  to  quarrel, 
you  and  I,  can  we  ?  I  am  sorry  I  spoke  as  I  did — and  I  never 
meant  that  you  were  cowardly  in  the  ordinary  sense.  I  was 
angry  about  Taquisara.  What  right  had  he  to  come  here,  to 
pry  into  our  affairs  ?  I  should  think  you  would  have  resented 
it,  too." 

"  I  did,"  said  Bosio,  somewhat  sullenly.  "  But  I  could  not 
turn  him  out,  nor  get  into  a  quarrel  with  him.  It  would  have 
made  a  useless  scandal  and  would  have  set  every  one  talking." 

"  Certainly,"  assented  Matilde.  "  Perhaps  you  did  right, 
after  all — at  least,  you  thought  you  did.  I  am  sure  of  that.  I 
do  not  know  why  I  was  so  angry  at  you.  I  am  unstrung,  and 
nervous,  I  suppose.  Did  I  say  very  dreadful  things  to  you, 
dear  ?  I  do  not  know  what  I  said — " 

"You  called  me  a  coward  several  times,"  replied  Bosio, 
thinking  to  show  a  little  strength  by  relenting  slowly. 

"  Oh  !  but  I  did  not  mean  it ! "  cried  the  countess.  "  Bosio, 
forgive  me.  I  did  not  mean  to  say  such  things — indeed,  I  did 
not.  But  do  you  wonder  that  I  am  nervous  ?  Say  that  you 
forgive  me — " 

"  Of  course  I  forgive  you,"  answered  Bosio,  raising  his  eye- 


76  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

brows  rather  wearily.  "  I  know  that  you  are  under  a  terrible 
strain — but  you  say  things  sometimes  which  are  unjust  and 
hard.  I  know  what  all  this  means  to  us  both — but  there  must 
be  some  other  way." 

Matilde  shook  her  head  mournfully,  as  Bosio  sat  down 
beside  her,  already  sinking  back  to  his  long-learned  docility. 

"There  is  no  other  way,"  she  said.  "There  is  certainly 
none,  that  is  sure.  I  have  thought  it  all  over,  as  one  thinks  of 
everything  when  everything  is  in  danger.  The  only  other 
course  is  to  throw  ourselves  upon  Veronica's  mercy — " 

"  Well  ?  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Bosio,  eagerly,  as  Don  Teodoro's 
advice  gained  instant  plausibility  again.  "  She  is  kind,  she  is 
charitable,  she  will  forgive  everything  and  save  you — " 

"  The  shame  of  it,  Bosio !  Of  confessing  it  all — and  she 
may  refuse.  Veronica  is  not  all  kindness  and  charity.  She  is 
a  Serra,  as  I  am,  and  though  she  is  a  mere  girl,  if  she  takes  it 
into  her  head  to  be  hard  and  unforgiving,  there  would  be  no 
power  on  earth  that  could  move  her.  She  is  not  so  unlike  me, 
Bosio.  You  may  think  so  because  she  is  so  unlike  me  in  looks. 
She  has  the  type  of  her  father,  poor  Tommaso.  But  we  Serra 
are  all  Serra — there  is  not  much  difference.  No — do  not  in 
terrupt  me,  dear.  And  as  for  your  marriage,  there  is  much  to 
be  said  for  it.  It  is  time  that  you  were  married,  you  know. 
You  and  I  have  lived  our  lives,  and  we  are  not  what  we  were. 
I  shall  always  be  fond  of  you — we  shall  always  be  more  than 
friends — but  always  less  than  what  we  have  been.  It  must 
have  come  sooner  or  later,  Bosio,  and  it  may  as  well  come  now. 
You  know — we  cannot  be  always  young.  And  as  for  me,  if  I 
am  not  already  old,  I  soon  shall  be." 

The  woman  who  had  held  him  so  long  knew  how  to  tempt 
him,  sacrificing  everything  in  the  desperate  straits  to  which  she 
was  reduced.  Though  he  had  loved  her  well,  and  sinfully,  but 
truly,  for  so  many  years,  his  love  had  sometimes  seemed  an 
unbearable  thraldom,  to  escape  from  which  he  would  have 
given  his  heart  piecemeal,  though  he  should  lose  all  the  happi 
ness  life  held  for  him,  for  the  sake  of  a  momentary  freedom. 
Possibly,  too,  she  knew  that  he  never  longed  for  that  freedom 
so  much  as  when  she  had  just  been  most  violent  and  despotic. 
She  was  prepared  for  the  feeble  dissent  with  which  he  answered 
her  suggestion  of  separation.  He  would  be  the  more  easily 
persuaded  to  yield  and  marry  Veronica. 

"  As  for  your  being  old,"  he  said,  "  it  is  absurd.     It  is  I  who 


VI  TAQUISARA  77 

have  grown  old  of  late.  But  our  being  friends — "  he  paused 
thoughtfully. 

"  A  man  is  never  too  old  to  marry,"  answered  Matilde.  "  It 
is  only  women  who  grow  too  old  to  be  loved.  You  will  begin 
your  life  all  over  again  with  Veronica.  You  and  she  will  go 
away  together — you  can  live  in  Rome,  when  you  are  tired  of 
Paris.  It  will  be  better.  You  and  I  will  see  each  other  seldom 
at  first.  By  and  by  it  will  be  so  easy  for  us  to  be  good  friends 
after  we  have  been  separated  some  time." 

"  Friends  ? "  Bosio  spoke  the  one  word  again,  with  a  sad 
and  dreamy  intonation. 

"I  asked  Veronica  this  morning,"  continued  Matilde,  not 
heeding  him,  and  beginning  to  speak  more  rapidly.  "You 
have  no  idea  how  very  fond  she  is  of  you.  When  I  spoke  of 
the  marriage,  she  seemed  to  think  it  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world.  She  found  arguments  for  it  herself." 

"She?" 

"  Yes.  She  said — what  I  have  said  to  you — that  there  was 
no  man  whom  she  knew  so  well  and  liked  so  much  as  you,  that 
of  course  she  had  never  thought  of  marrying  you,  nor,  indeed, 
of  being  married  at  all,  but  that,  at  the  same  time,  she  should 
think  that  you  would  make  a  very  good  husband.  She  wished 
to  think  of  it — that  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  she  will  not  even 
make  any  serious  objections.  You  have  no  idea  how  young 
girls  feel  about  marriage,  Bosio.  How  should  you  ?  You  can 
not  comprehend  the  horror  a  girl  like  Veronica  feels  of  a 
stranger,  of  a  man  like  Gianluca,  even,  whom  she  has  met 
half  a  dozen  times  and  talked  with.  It  seems  so  dreadful  to 
think  of  spending  a  lifetime  with  a  man  about  whom  she  knows 
nothing,  or  next  to  nothing.  And  yet  it  is  the  custom,  and 
most  of  them  accept  it  and  are  happy.  But  the  idea  of  marry 
ing  some  one  with  whom  she  is  really  intimate,  whom  she  really 
likes,  who  really  understands  her,  places  marriage  in  a  new 
light  for  a  young  girl.  Without  knowing  it,  Veronica  is  half  in 
love  with  you.  It  is  no  wonder  that  she  likes  the  thought  of 
being  your  wife — apart  from  the  fact  that  you  are  a  very  desir 
able  husband." 

"  I  cannot  believe  that,"  said  Bosio. 

"  That  you  are  desirable  as  a  husband  ?  My  dear  Bosio,  do 
not  pretend  to  be  so  absurdly  modest !  Any  woman  would  be 
glad  to  marry  you.  But  for  me,  you  could  have  made  the  best 
match  in  Naples  years  ago — " 


78  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"Not  even  years  ago.  Much  less  now.  But  that  was  not 
what  I  meant.  I  cannot  believe  that  Veronica  is  really  inclined 
to  marry  me.  It  seems  to  me  that  she  might  be  my  daughter — " 

"If  you  had  been  married  at  fifteen,"  suggested  Matilde, 
laughing  softly.  "  Because  you  feel  tired  and  harassed  to-day, 
you  feel  a  hundred  years  old.  It  is  no  compliment  to  me  to 
say  so,  for  I  am  even  a  little  older  than  you,  I  think.  And 
you — you  are  young,  you  are  handsome,  you  are  talented,  you 
have  the  manners  that  women  love — " 

"  It  is  not  many  minutes  since  you  were  saying  that  we  were 
both  growing  old — " 

"  No,  no  !  I  said  that  we  could  not  always  be  young.  That 
is  very  different.  And  that  we  have  lived  our  lives — our  lives 
so  long  as  they  can  be  lived  together — that  is  what  I  meant. 
You  are  young  !  How  many  men  marry  at  fifty !  And  you 
are  not  forty  yet.  You  have  ten  years  of  youth  before  you. 
That  is  not  the  question.  So  far  as  that  is  concerned,  say  that 
you  are  old  to-night,  at  dinner,  and  you  shall  see  how  Veronica 
will  laugh  at  you  !  But  that  you  and  I  should  part,  Bosio — 
and  yet,  it  is  far  better,  if  you  have  the  courage." 

"  Have  you  ?  "  he  asked,  sadly. 

"Yes — I  have,  for  your  sake,  since  I  see  how  you  look  at 
this.  And  you  are  right.  I  know  you  are,  though  I  am  only 
a  woman,  and  cannot  have  a  man's  ideas  about  honour.  For 
my  own  part — well,  I  am  a  woman,  and  I  have  loved  you  long. 
But  you  are  the  one  to  be  thought  of.  You  shall  be  free,  as 
though  I  had  never  lived.  You  shall  be  able  to  say  to  yourself 
that  in  marrying  Veronica  you  are  not  doing  anything  in  the 
least  dishonourable.  I  shall  not  exist  for  you.  I  shall  not  feel 
that  I  have  the  right  to  think  of  you  and  for  you  as  I  always 
have.  I  shall  never  ask  you  to  do  anything  for  me,  lest  you 
should  feel  that  I  were  asserting  some  claim  to  you,  as  though 
you  were  still  mine.  It  will  be  hard  at  first.  But  I  can  do  it, 
and  I  will  do  it,  in  order  that  your  conscience  may  be  free. 
You  shall  marry  her,  as  though  you  had  never  known  me,  and 
hereafter  I  will  always  be  the  same.  Only —  She  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  him  with  a  look  which,  whether  genuine  or  assumed, 
was  fierce  and  tender. 

"  Only — if  you  are  not  true  to  her,  Bosio — if  you  leave  her 
and  go  after  some  other  woman — then  I  will  turn  upon  you!" 

Bosio  met  her  glance  with  a  look  of  something  like  astonish 
ment,  wondering  how  in  a  few  sentences  she  had  got  herself 


vi  TAQUISARA  79 

into  a  position  to  threaten  him  with  vengeance  if  he  were 
unfaithful  to  Veronica. 

"  We  will  not  speak  of  that,"  she  exclaimed,  before  he  said 
anything  in  answer  or  protest.  "  We  have  harder  things  to  do 
than  to  imagine  evil  in  the  future.  Since  we  are  decided — 
since  it  is  to  be  the  end — let  it  be  now,  quickly  !  You  shall 
not  have  it  on  your  mind  that  you  belong  to  me  in  any  way, 
from  now.  No — you  are  right — you  must  feel  free.  You  must 
feel  free,  besides  really  being  free.  You  must  feel,  when  you 
speak  to  Veronica  to-night  or  to-morrow,  as  she  expects  you  to 
speak,  that  all  our  life  together  is  utterly  past  and  swept  away, 
and  that  I  only  exist  henceforth  as  a  relative — as — as  your 
wife's  aunt,  Bosio  ! " 

She  laughed,  half  bitterly,  half  nervously,  at  the  idea,  and 
turning  away  her  face  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

He  took  it,  and  held  it,  pressing  it  between  both  his  own. 

"  Do  you  mean  this,  Matilde  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,  I  mean  it,"  she  answered,  speaking  away  from  him 
with  averted  face. 

He  could  not  see,  but  she  was  biting  her  lip  till  it  almost 
bled.  In  her  own  strange  way  she  loved  him  with  all  her  evil 
nature,  and  if  she  were  breaking  with  him  now,  it  was  to  save 
herself  from  something  worse  than  death.  It  \vas  the  hardest 
thing  she  had  ever  done.  He  hesitated :  there  was  the  mean 
prompting  of  the  spirit,  to  take  her  at  her  word  and  to  set  him 
self  free,  since  she  offered  him  freedom,  caring  not  whether  she 
might  repent  to-morrow;  and  there  was  the  instinct  of  fidelity 
which  in  so  much  dishonour  had  remained  with  him  through 
so  many  years. 

"  Besides,"  she  said,  hoarsely,  "  I  do  not  love  you  any  more. 
I  would  not  keep  you  longer,  if  I  could.  Oh — we  shall  be 
friends  !  But  the  other — no  !  Good-bye,  Bosio — good-bye." 

Something  moved  him,  as  she  had  not  meant  that  anything 
should. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you,"  he  said.  "  You  love  me  still — I  will 
not  leave  you  ! " 

"  No,  no  !  I  do  not — but  if  you  still  care  at  all,  save  me. 
Say  good-bye,  but  do  the  rest  also.  You  are  free  now.  You  are 
an  honourable  man  again.  Bosio,  look  at  my  hair.  You  used 
to  love  it.  Would  you  have  it  cut  off  and  cropped  by  the 
convict's  shears?  My  hands  that  you  are  holding — dear — • 
would  you  love  them  galled  by  the  irons,  riveted  upon  them 


80  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

for  years  ?  Save  me,  Bosio !  You  are  free  now — save  me,  for 
the  dear  sake  of  all  that  has  been!" 

Still  she  turned  her  face  away,  and  as  Bosio  saw  the  waving 
richness  of  her  brown  hair  and  heard  her  words,  he  felt  a 
desperate  thrust  of  pain  in  his  heart.  It  was  all  so  fearfully 
true  and  possible. 

"  But  do  not  say  that  you  do  not  love  me,"  he  pleaded,  in 
low  tones,  bending  to  her  ear. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  he  thought  he  saw  a 
convulsive  movement  of  her  throat — he  guessed  it  rather  than 
saw  it. 

"  It  is  true ! "  she  cried,  with  an  effort,  drawing  her  hands 
from  him  and  turning  her  pale  face  fiercely.  "  If  I  loved  you 
still,  do  you  think  I  would  give  you  to  Veronica  Serra,  or  to 
any  living  woman?  Was  that  the  way  I  loved  you?  Was  that 
how  you  loved  me  ?  " 

"  Ah  no  !     But  now — " 

She  would  not  let  him  speak. 

"  Do  you  think  that  if  I  loved  you,  as  I  have  loved  you — as 
I  did  once — I  should  be  so  ready  to  give  you  up  ?  Do  you 
know  me  so  little?  Do  you  think  that  I  have  no  pride?" 
asked  Matilde  Macomer,  holding  him  at  arm's  length  from  her 
with  her  strong  hands  and  throwing  back  her  head,  while  the 
lids  half  veiled  her  eyes,  and  her  face  grew  paler  still. 

The  words  that  were  so  strange,  spoken  by  such  a  woman, 
fell  from  her  lips  with  force  and  earnest  conviction,  whether  she 
truly  believed  that  they  had  meaning  for  her,  or  not.  Then  her 
voice  changed  and  softened  again. 

"  But  your  friend — yes,  always,  as  you  must  be  mine — that 
and  nothing  more.  We  have  said  good-bye  to  all  the  rest — now 
go,  for  I  would  rather  be  alone  for  a  little  while.  Go,  Bosio — 
please  go  ! " 

"  As  you  will,"  he  answered. 

Then  he  kissed  her  hand  and  looked  into  her  face  for  a 
moment,  as  though  expecting  that  she  should  speak  again. 
But  she  only  shook  her  head,  and  her  hand  gave  his  no 
pressure.  He  kissed  it  again.  There  were  tears  in  his  eyes 
when  he  left  the  room. 


vii  TAQUISARA  81 


CHAPTER  VII 

LOVE  is  not  the  privilege  of  the  virtuous,  nor  the  exclusive  right 
of  the  weak  man  and  woman.  The  earth  brings  forth  the  good 
thing  and  the  bad  thing  with  equal  strength  to  grow  great  and 
multiply  side  by  side,  and  it  is  not  the  privilege  of  the  good 
thing  to  live  forever  because  it  is  good,  nor  is  it  the  con 
demnation  of  the  bad  to  die  before  its  time,  perishing  in  its 
own  evil. 

A  moment  after  Bosio  had  left  the  room,  Matilde  rose  to  her 
feet,  very  pale  and  unsteady,  and  locked  the  door.  Then, 
as  though  she  were  groping  her  way  in  darkness,  she  got  back 
to  the  sofa,  and,  falling  upon  it,  buried  her  face  in  the  cushions, 
and  bit  them,  lest  she  should  cry  out.  She  felt  that  it  would 
have  been  easier,  after  all,  to  have  killed  Veronica  Serra, 
than  it  had  been  to  part  with  the  one  thing  she  had  loved 
in  her  life. 

She  had  not  loved  him  better  than  herself,  perhaps,  since 
it  was  to  save  herself  that  she  had  driven  him  away.  But 
it  had  not  been  to  save  herself  from  so  small  and  insignificant  a 
thing  as  death,  though  she  was  vital  and  loved  life  for  its  own 
sake.  She  had  not  realized,  either,  until  it  had  been  almost 
done,  how  necessary  it  was.  Yesterday  she  had  been  more 
cynical.  Her  own  wickedness  was  teaching  her  the  necessity  of 
some  good,  and  she  saw  now  clearly  that  Bosio  was  one  degree 
less  base  than  herself.  She  believed  that  he  would  now  be 
willing  to  marry  Veronica,  but  she  understood  that  until  now 
he  would  not  have  done  it — unless  she  had  freed  him  from  the 
galling  remnant  of  his  own  conscience,  and  had  formally  given 
him  his  liberty.  To  give  him  that,  in  order  that  he  might  save 
her,  she  had  torn  out  her  heart  by  the  roots. 

The  bitterest  of  all  was  this,  that  he  had  scarcely  struggled 
against  her  will,  when  she  had  left  him  to  himself.  He  had  said 
a  few  words,  indeed,  but  he  could  hardly  have  said  less,  if  he  had 
meant  nothing.  She  knew  well  enough  that  at  almost  any 
point  she  could  have  brought  him  back,  playing  upon  the 
fidelity  of  habit.  At  her  voice,  at  her  glance,  for  one  word 
of  her  pleading,  he  would  have  come  back  to  her  feet,  willing  to 
remain.  But  there  was  no  vital  strength  of  passion  in  him 
to  keep  him  to  her  against  her  mere  spoken  will.  Once  or 
twice,  in  spite  of  herself,  her  voice  had  softened ;  she  had  felt 


82  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

that  her  face  betrayed  her,  and  had  turned  it  away ;  she  had 
known  that  her  hands  were  icy  cold  in  his,  and  had  hoped  that 
he  would  not  notice  it  and  understand,  and  feel,  perhaps,  that 
his  accursed  habit  of  fidelity  would  not  let  him  take  the  freedom 
she  thrust  upon  him.  He  had  not  seen,  he  had  not  felt, 
he  had  noticed  nothing ;  and  he  was  gone,  glad  to  be  free  from 
her  at  last,  willing  to  marry  another  woman,  ready  to  forget 
what  had  held  him  by  a  thread  which  he  respected,  but  not  by 
a  bond  which  he  could  not  break.  She  had  long  guessed  how 
it  was ;  she  knew  it  now — she  had  known  the  truth  last  night, 
when  she  had  smoothed  his  soft  hair  with  her  hand  and  had 
spoken  softly  to  him,  but  had  not  got  from  him  the  promise 
that  meant  salvation  to  her  and  her  husband.  Then  she  had 
known  what  she  must  do.  Once  more  she  had  tried  to  impose 
her  strength  upon  his  weakness,  and  had  failed.  Then,  almost 
without  an  outward  sign,  she  had  made  up  her  mind.  And 
now — he  was  gone.  That  was  all  she  knew,  or  remembered, 
for  an  hour,  as  she  lay  there  on  the  sofa,  biting  the  cushions. 
It  would  have  been  far  easier  to  kill  Veronica,  than  to  let  him 
go.  It  was  not  her  conscience  that  suffered,  but  her  heart,  and 
it  could  suffer  still. 

It  would  have  been  worse,  had  that  been  possible,  if  she  had 
known  what  Bosio  felt  at  that  moment.  Happily  for  her,  she 
never  knew.  For  in  the  midst  of  the  life-and-death  terror  of  the 
situation,  he  was  conscious  that  he  rejoiced  at  being  un 
expectedly  free  at  last  from  the  slavery  of  her  power.  It  was 
perhaps  the  satisfaction  of  an  aspiration,  good  in  itself,  of  a 
long-smouldering  revolt  against  the  life  of  deception  she  had 
imposed  upon  him ;  but  in  respect  of  his  manhood,  it  was  mean. 
For  good  is  what  men  are,  when  they  are  doing  good.  It  can 
not  be  the  good  itself,  which,  though  it  profit  many,  may  be  so 
done  as  to  stab  and  wound  the  secret  enemy  of  the  man's  own 
heart.  The  good  such  a  man  does  the  whole  world  is  but  the 
knife  in  his  hand  wherewith  to  hurt  the  one.  But  Bosio  hurt 
only  himself,  and  little,  at  that,  for  he  was  almost  past  hurting ; 
and  Matilde  never  knew  what  he  felt.  And  though  he  suffered 
most  of  all,  perhaps,  between  the  beginning  and  the  end,  there 
was  no  one  moment  of  all  his  suffering  which  was  like  the 
agony  of  the  strong  and  evil  woman  when  she  had  driven  him 
away,  and  was  quite  alone.  She  knew,  now,  what  it  meant  to 
be  alone. 

When  she  rose  at  last,  her  face  was  changed ;  there  was  a 


vii  TAQUISARA  83 

keen,  famished  look  in  her  eyes,  and  her  movements  were 
steady  and  direct.  Her  nature  was  very  unlike  Bosio's,  for  she 
was  able  to  drive  her  will  into  action,  as  it  were,  and  she  could 
be  sure  that  it  would  not  turn  and  bend,  and  disappoint  her. 
But,  for  the  present,  she  could  do  little  more  and  she  knew  it. 
She  could  only  hope  that  all  things  might  go  well,  standing 
ready  at  hand  to  throw  her  weight  upon  the  scale-beam  if  fate 
alone  would  not  bear  down  the  side  that  bore  her  safety.  She 
had  said  all  that  she  could  say  to  Veronica  and  to  Bosio. 
Gregorio  Macomer,  her  husband,  whom  she  hated  and  despised, 
but  whom  she  was  saving,  or  trying  to  save,  with  herself, 
carried  the  effrontery  of  his  sham-honest  face  and  cold  manner 
through  it  all,  unmoved,  so  far  as  she  could  see.  Only  once 
or  twice  in  the  course  of  the  day  he  had  laughed  suddenly  and 
nervously,  with  a  contraction  of  the  face  and  a  raising  of  the 
flat  upper  lip  that  showed  his  sharp  yellow  teeth.  No  one 
noticed  it  but  Matilde,  and  it  frightened  her.  But  hitherto  he 
had  said  nothing  more  since  he  had  first  confided  to  her,  as  to 
his  only  possible  helper,  the  nature  of  his  danger. 

She  had  not  reproached  him  with  what  he  had  done.  The 
danger  itself  was  too  great  for  that,  and  perhaps  she  had  sus 
pected  its  approach  too  long  to  be  surprised  at  his  confession. 
She  had  paid  very  little  attention  to  the  words  he  used ;  for, 
considering  his  nature,  it  was  natural  that  he  should,  even  in 
such  extremity,  attempt  to  throw  a  side-light  of  dignity  upon 
his  misfortunes,  and  should  call  crimes  by  names  which  sug 
gested  honest  dealing  to  the  ordinary  hearer,  such  as  *  trans 
ference  of  title,'  '  reinvestment,'  '  realization,'  and  the  like ;  all 
of  which,  in  plain  language,  meant  that  he  had  taken  what 
was  not  his,  without  the  shadow  of  authorization  from  any  one, 
in  the  quite  indefensible  way  which  the  law  calls  c  stealing.' 

Matilde  had  been  amazed,  however,  at  the  impunity  he  had 
hitherto  enjoyed.  The  mere  fact  that  the  estate  had  never 
been  handed  over  by  the  guardians,  of  whom  she  was  one  and 
Cardinal  Campodonico  the  third,  was  probably  in  itself  action 
able,  had  Veronica  chosen  to  protest ;  and  it  was  an  indubit 
able  fact  that  Gregorio  Macomer  had  taken  large  sums  after 
the  guardianship  had  legally  expired.  There  had  been  none 
to  hinder  him  and  Lamberto  Squarci  from  doing  as  they 
pleased.  The  cardinal  was  deeply  engaged  in  other  matters, 
and  was,  moreover,  not  at  all  a  man  of  business.  He  believed 
Gregorio  to  be  honest,  and  now  and  then,  when  he  talked  with 


84  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Veronica,  he  applauded  her  wisdom  in  leaving  the  management 
of  her  affairs  in  such  experienced  hands. 

Matilde  unlocked  her  door  when  she  felt  that  she  was  once 
more  mistress  of  herself  and  able  to  face  the  world.  A  woman 
does  not  lead  the  life  she  had  led  for  years  without  at  least 
knowing  herself  well  and  understanding  exactly  how  far  she 
can  rely  upon  her  face  and  voice.  She  knew  when  she  rose 
from  the  sofa  that  she  could  go  through  the  remainder  of  the 
day  well  enough  ;  and  though  her  eyes  gleamed  hungrily,  there 
was  a  cynical  smile  on  her  lips  as  she  turned  over  the  red 
cushion,  on  which  there  were  marks  where  she  had  bitten  it, 
and  softly  unlocked  the  door.  She  went  into  her  dressing- 
room,  beyond,  for  a  moment,  to  smooth  her  hair.  That  was 
all,  for  there  had  been  no  tears  in  her  eyes. 

When  she  returned,  she  was  surprised  to  see  her  husband 
standing  before  the  window,  with  his  back  to  the  broad  sun 
shine,  peacefully  smoking  a  cigarette.  The  smoke  curled  lazily 
about  his  grey  head,  in  the  quiet  air,  as  he  allowed  it  to  issue 
from  his  parted  lips  almost  without  the  help  of  his  breath. 
His  face  was  like  stone,  but  as  he  opened  his  mouth  to  let  out 
the  wreathing  smoke,  his  lips  smiled  in  an  unnatural  way. 
Matilde  half  unconsciously  compared  him  to  one  of  those 
grimacing  Chinese  monsters  of  grey  porcelain,  made  for  burning 
incense  and  perfumes,  from  whose  stony  jaws  the  thick  smoke 
comes  out  on  the  right  and  left  in  slowly  curling  strings.  His 
expression  did  not  change  when  he  saw  her,  and  as  he  stood 
with  his  back  to  the  light,  his  small  eyes  were  quite  invisible  in 
his  face. 

"  What  news  ?  "  he  asked,  calmly,  as  he  closed  the  door  and 
came  forward  into  the  room.  "  Is  all  going  well  ?  " 

His  breath,  as  he  spoke,  blew  the  clouds  of  smoke  from  his 
face  in  thin  puffs. 

"  If  you  wish  things  to  go  well,"  answered  Matilde,  "  leave 
everything  to  me.  Do  not  interfere.  You  have  an  unlucky 
hand." 

She  sat  down  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  taking  a  book  from 
the  table,  but  not  yet  opening  it.  He  smoked  in  silence  for  a 
moment. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  presently.  "  I  have  been  unfortunate.  But 
I  have  great  confidence  in  you,  Matilde — great  confidence." 

"  That  is  fortunate,"  replied  his  wife,  coldly.  "  It  would  be 
hard,  if  there  were  no  confidence  on  either  side." 


vii  TAQUISARA  85 

"  Yes.     Of  course,  you  have  none  in  me  ?  " 

He  laughed  suddenly,  and  the  sound  was  jarring  and  start 
ling,  like  the  unexpected  breaking  of  plates  in  a  quiet  room. 
Matilde's  lips  quivered  and  her  brow  contracted  spasmodically. 
She  hated  his  voice  at  all  times,  as  she  hated  him  and  all  that 
belonged  to  him  and  his  being;  but  during  the  past  twenty-four 
hours  he  had  developed  this  strange  laugh  which  set  her  teeth 
on  edge  every  time  she  heard  it. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  she  asked,  impatiently. 
"  Why  do  you  laugh  in  that  way  ?  " 

"  Did  I  laugh  ?  "  he  inquired,  by  way  of  answer.  "  It  was 
unconscious.  But  my  voice  was  never  musical.  However,  in 
the  present  state  of  our  family  affairs,  a  little  laughter  might 
divert  our  thoughts.  Have  you  seen  Bosio  to-day  ?  Why  did 
he  not  come  to  luncheon  ?  I  hope  he  is  not  ill,  just  at  this 
moment." 

Matilde  '  placed '  her  voice  carefully,  as  a  singer  would  do, 
before  she  answered. 

"  He  is  not  ill,"  she  said.  "  He  was  here  an  hour  ago.  I 
did  not  ask  him  why  he  did  not  come  to  luncheon,  because  it 
did  not  concern  me." 

"Well?     And  the  rest?" 

"  The  rest  ?  How  anxious  you  are  ! "  she  exclaimed,  scorn 
fully.  "The  rest  is  as  well  as  ill  can  be.  I  think  he  will  marry 
Veronica." 

"  I  should  suppose  so,  if  she  will  marry  him,"  observed 
Macomer.  "  It  would  be  as  sensible  to  doubt  that  a  starving 
man  would  take  bread,  as  to  question  whether  a  poor  man  will 
accept  a  fortune,  especially  in  such  an  agreeable  shape.  It  is 
quite  another  matter,  whether  the  fortune  will  give  itself  to  the 
poor  man.  What  does  Veronica  say  ?  Is  she  pleased  with  the 
idea?" 

"Moderately.  She  has  not  refused.  She  wishes  to  think 
about  it." 

"I  hope  that  she  will  not  think  too  long.  To-day  is  the 
tenth  of  December.  There  are  just  three  weeks.  By  the  bye, 
Matilde,  I  hope  you  have  put  the  will  in  a  safe  place.  Where 
is  it?" 

Matilde  paused  two  seconds  before  she  answered.  Though 
she  could  not  imagine  in  what  way  Gregorio  could  improve  his 
desperate  position  by  getting  the  will  out  of  her  hands,  nor  by 
tampering  with  it,  of  which  she  knew  him  to  be  quite  capable, 


86  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

yet,  on  general  principles,  she  distrusted  him  so  wholly  and 
profoundly  that  she  determined  to  deceive  him  as  to  the  place 
in  which  she  kept  it.  Being  clever  at  concealing  things,  she 
began  by  showing  it  to  him.  She  rose,  took  a  key  from  behind 
a  photograph  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  unlocked  the  drawer  of 
her  writing-table.  The  will  lay  there,  folded  in  a  big  envelope. 

"Here  it  is,"  she  said.     "Do  you  wish  to  look  over  it  again?" 

She  drew  it  half  out  of  the  cover  and  held  it  up  before  him. 
He  recognized  the  document  and  seemed  satisfied. 

"  Oh !  no,"  he  answered.  "  I  know  it  by  heart.  I  only 
wished  to  know  where  it  was." 

"  Very  well ;  it  is  here,"  said  Matilde,  putting  it  back  and 
locking  the  drawer  again.  "I  generally  carry  the  key  about 
with  me,"  she  added,  carelessly,  "  but  I  have  no  pocket  in  this 
gown,  so  I  laid  it  behind  that  photograph.  It  is  not  a  very 
good  place  for  it,  is  it  ?  " 

She  hesitated,  holding  the  key  in  her  hand,  and  looking  about 
the  room  while  he  watched  her.  The  woman's  enormous  power 
of  deception  showed  itself  in  the  spontaneous  facility  with  which 
she  went  through  a  complicated  little  scene,  quite  improvised, 
in  order  to  mislead  her  husband.  She  knew  that  he  himself 
would  suggest  some  place  for  the  key  to  lie  in. 

"  Put  it  under  the  edge  of  the  carpet  in  the  corner  near  the 
door,"  he  suggested.  "You  can  easily  turn  the  carpet  up  a 
little  between  the  rings." 

"  That  is  a  good  idea,"  she  said.  "  It  is  as  well  that  you 
should  know  where  it  is,  in  case  anything  were  to  happen  to  me." 

She  was  already  in  the  corner,  and  she  thrust  the  key  under 
the  doubled  edge  of  the  crimson  carpet. 

"  You  are  ingenious,"  she  observed,  drily,  as  she  rose  to  her 
feet.  "  I  should  not  have  thought  of  that.  It  is  a  pity  that 
you  have  not  been  able  to  apply  your  ingenuity  better  in  other 
ways,  too.  It  has  been  wasted." 

"I  am  not  sure,"  answered  Macomer,  thoughtfully.  "If 
Bosio  marries  Veronica,  our  position  will  be  a  very  good  one, 
considering  the  misfortunes  through  which  we  have  passed.  If 
he  should  not,  and  if  Veronica  should  die,  it  will  be  much 
better.  I  am  not  sure  but  that,  if  I  had  no  affection  for  the 
girl,  I  might  prefer  that  she  should  die." 

Matilde  glanced  at  him  sideways,  uneasily. 

"  We  will  not  speak  of  that,"  she  said,  as  though  it  were  a 
disagreeable  subject. 


vii  TAQUISARA  87 

"  No." 

Then,  without  warning,  his  jarring,  crashing  laughter  rilled 
the  room  again  for  a  moment,  and  she  started  as  she  heard  it, 
and  looked  round  nervously. 

"  I  really  wish  you  would  not  laugh  in  that  way,"  she  said, 
with  a  frown.  "  There  is  nothing  to  laugh  at,  I  assure  you." 

"I  did  not  know  that  I  laughed,"  said  Macomer,  indifferently. 
"  That  is  the  second  time  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  How  odd 
it  would  be  if  I  were  to  laugh  unconsciously  in  that  way  when — " 
He  seemed  to  check  the  words  that  were  coming. 

"  When,  for  instance  ?"  asked  Matilde,  not  guessing  what  was 
passing  in  his  mind. 

"At  the  funeral,"  he  answered,  shortly.  Matilde  started 
again,  and  looked  at  him  anxiously.  She  had  resumed  her  seat 
after  she  had  hidden  the  key,  but  she  now  rose  and  went  to 
him.  He  was  still  standing  before  the  window,  though  he  had 
finished  his  cigarette  and  had  thrown  away  the  end  of  it.  She 
stood  before  him  a  moment  before  she  spoke,  fixing  her  eyes 
severely  on  his  face. 

"Control  yourself!"  she  said,  sternly.  "I  understand  that 
you  are  nervous  and  over-strained.  That  is  no  reason  for 
behaving  like  a  fool." 

He  also  paused  an  instant  before  speaking.  Then,  all  at 
once,  his  features  assumed  an  expression  of  docility,  not  at  all 
natural  to  him. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "I  will  try.  I  think  you  are  quite 
right.  I  really  am  very  much  over-strained  in  these  days." 

Matilde  was  surprised  by  his  change  of  manner,  but  was  glad 
to  find  that  she  could  control  him  so  easily. 

"  It  will  pass,"  she  said,  more  gently.  "  You  will  be  better  in 
a  day  or  two,  when  everything  is  settled." 

"  Yes — when  everything  is  settled.  But  meanwhile,  my  dear, 
perhaps  it  would  be  better,  if  you  should  notice  anything  strange 
in  my  behaviour,  like  my  laughing  in  this  absurd  way,  for 
instance,  just  to  look  at  me  without  saying  anything — you 
understand — it  will  recall  me  to  myself.  I  am  convinced  that 
it  is  only  absence  of  mind,  brought  on  by  great  anxiety.  But 
people  are  spiteful,  you  know,  and  somebody  might  think  that 
I  was  losing  my  mind." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  gravely.  "If  you  laugh  in  that  way, 
without  any  reason,  somebody  might  think  so.  I  will  try  and 
call  your  attention  to  it,  if  I  can." 


88  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Macomer,  with  his  unpleasant  smile.  "  I 
think  I  will  go  and  lie  down  now,  for  I  feel  tired." 

He  turned  from  her,  and  made  a  few  steps  towards  the  door. 
He  did  not  walk  like  a  man  tired,  for  he  held  himself  as  erect 
as  ever,  with  his  head  thrown  back,  and  his  narrow  shoulders 
high  and  square.  Nevertheless,  Matilde  was  anxious. 

"You  do  not  feel  ill,  do  you?"  she  asked,  before  he  had 
reached  the  door. 

He  stopped,  half  turning  back. 

"  NO — oh,  no  !  I  do  not  feel  ill.  Pray  do  not  be  anxious, 
my  dear.  I  will  take  a  little  aconite  for  my  heart,  and  then  I 
will  lie  down  for  an  hour  or  two." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  been  converted  to  homoeo 
pathy,"  said  Matilde,  indifferently.  "  But,  of  course,  if  it  does 
you  good,  take  the  aconite,  by  all  means." 

"  I  do  not  take  it  in  homoeopathic  doses,"  answered  Gregorio. 
"  It  is  the  tincture,  and  I  sometimes  take  as  much  as  thirty  or 
forty  drops  of  it  in  water.  Of  course,  that  would  be  too  much 
for  a  person  not  used  to  taking  it.  But  it  is  a  very  good  medi 
cine.  Indeed,  I  should  advise  you  to  take  it,  too,  if  you  ever 
have  any  trouble  with  your  heart." 

"  How  does  it  affect  one?"  asked  Matilde,  turning  her  face 
from  him,  and  speaking  indifferently. 

"  It  lowers  the  action  of  the  heart.  Of  course,  one  has  to  be 
careful.  I  suppose  that  one  or  two  hundred  drops  would  stop 
the  heart  altogether,  but  a  little  of  it  is  excellent  for  palpitations. 
Do  you  suffer  from  them  ?  Should  you  like  some  ?  I  have  a 
large  supply,  for  I  always  use  it.  I  can  give  you  a  small  bottle, 
if  you  like." 

"  No,"  answered  Matilde,  still  looking  away  from  him,  to 
wards  the  photographs  on  the  mantelpiece.  "  I  am  afraid  of 
those  things.  They  get  into  the  system,  as  arsenic  does,  and 
mercury,  and  such  things." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Macomer.  "You  are  quite  mistaken. 
That  is  the  peculiarity  of  those  vegetable— those  strong  vege 
table  medicines.  They  are  quite  untraceable  in  the  system, 
and  altogether  defy  chemistry." 

Matilde  was  silent  a  moment. 

"  Well,"  she  answered,  with  an  air  of  indifference,  "  I  have  a 
tendency  to  a  little  palpitation  of  the  heart,  and  if  you  will  give 
me  a  bottle  of  your  medicine,  I  will  try  it  once.  It  can  do  no 
harm,  I  suppose." 


VII  TAQUISARA  89 

"  Not  in  small  quantities.     I  will  bring  it  to  you  by  and  by." 

"Very  well.' 

He  went  out,  and  a  moment  later  she  heard  his  dreadful 
laugh  outside.  In  an  instant  she  reached  the  door,  opened  it, 
and  called  after  him  : — 

"  Gregorio  J     Do  not  laugh  !" 

But  he  was  gone,  and  there  was  no  one  in  the  passage. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

VERONICA  did  not  appear  at  dinner  that  evening,  but  remained 
in  her  room,  sending  word  to  the  countess  that  she  had  a 
headache  and  wished  to  be  alone.  Matilde  thought  it  not 
unnatural  that  the  girl  should  wish  to  reflect  in  solitude  upon 
the  grave  problem  which  had  been  given  her  for  consideration. 
It  would  be  wiser,  too,  not  to  disturb  her,  but  to  leave  her 
to  herself  to  reach  her  own  conclusions.  Matilde  knew  that 
Veronica  had  considerable  gifts  of  contrariety,  and  that  it 
would  be  a  mistake  to  press  her  too  closely  for  a  definite 
answer.  Besides,  it  was  always  a  tradition  in  such  cases  that  a 
young  girl  should  have,  in  name  at  least,  perfect  independence 
of  action,  and  the  ultimate  right  to  refuse  an  offer  or  accept  it. 
It  was  hard  to  sit  still  at  the  dinner  table  and  behave  with  an 
appearance  of  being  reasonable,  while  knowing  that  the  fate  of 
the  household  depended  upon  the  answer  of  the  young  girl — 
from  the  personal  liberty  of  two  out  of  the  three  persons,  who 
sat  at  the  meal,  to  the  disposal  of  the  forks  and  spoons  with 
which  they  were  eating,  and  the  roof  over  their  heads.  It  was 
very  hard  even  to  make  a  pretence  of  swallowing  a  little  food, 
when  all  three  knew  the  truth,  and  none  dared  to  refer  to  it  in 
any  way  lest  the  servants  should  guess  at  what  was  taking  place. 
They  spent  a  terribly  uncomfortable  hour  in  one  another's 
society.  The  two  men  exchanged  indifferent  remarks.  Matilde 
occasionally  said  something,  but  her  mind  ran  constantly  on 
absurd  details,  such  as  the  incident  of  the  hiding  of  the  will. 
As  soon  as  her  husband  had  left  her,  she  had  taken  it  from  the 
drawer,  relocking  the  latter,  and  again  placing  the  key  under 
the  caroet.  Then  she  had  taken  the  will  into  her  dressing- 


90  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

room  and  had  hidden  it  temporarily  in  another  drawer.  To 
distract  her  mind  during  dinner,  she  tried  to  think  of  a  better 
place  for  it,  and  at  last  determined  to  unscrew  the  wooden  back 
of  a  large  old  silver  mirror  which  stood  on  her  dressing-table, 
and  to  lay  the  two  open  sheets  of  the  document  upon  the  back 
of  the  looking-glass.  When  it  was  all  screwed  up  again,  it 
would  not  be  easy  to  find  Veronica's  will.  Matilde  also 
thought  of  the  aconite  which  Gregorio  had  recommended  her 
to  keep,  and  of  where  she  could  put  it,  out  of  the  way  of  the 
servants. 

Once,  towards  the  end  of  dinner,  Gregorio's  terrifying  laugh 
broke  out  suddenly,  as  the  butler  was  offering  him  some 
thing.  The  man  started  back  a  little  and  stared,  and  the 
spoon  and  fork  clattered  to  the  ground  over  the  edge  of  the 
silver  dish.  Bosio  started,  too,  but  Matilde  fixed  her  eyes 
sternly  on  Gregorio's  face.  He  saw  that  she  looked  at  him, 
and  he  nodded,  suddenly  assuming  the  expression  of  docility 
she  had  noticed  for  the  first  time  in  the  afternoon. 

Before  they  left  the  table  they  were  all  three  in  that  ex 
cruciating  state  of  rawness  of  the  nerves,  in  which  a  man  has 
the  sensation  that  his  brain  is  a  violent  explosive  which  a  single 
jarring  sound  or  word  must  ignite  and  blow  to  atoms,  like  a 
bomb-shell. 

And  all  the  while  Veronica  sat  peacefully  in  her  room,  before 
her  fire,  wrapped  in  a  loose  soft  dressing-gown,  her  little  feet 
upon  the  fender  before  her  and  a  book  in  her  hand.  A  lamp 
in  an  upright  sliding  stand  was  on  one  side  of  her  and  on  the 
other  stood  a  small  table.  From  time  to  time  her  maid 
brought  her  something  from  dinner,  of  which  she  ate  a  mouth 
ful  or  two  between  two  paragraphs  of  her  novel. 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  her  to  dine  in  this  way,  alone,  but 
it  was  one  she  rarely  had  an  opportunity  of  indulging.  Even 
when  her  aunt  and  uncle  dined  out  she  generally  had  her  dinner 
in  the  dining-room  with  Bosio,  who  scarcely  ever  went  into 
society  at  all.  On  such  occasions  they  generally  sat  together 
half  an  hour  after  the  meal  was  over,  before  separating,  and 
it  was  then  that  they  really  enjoyed  each  other's  conversation. 
It  was  very  rarely  that  Veronica  yielded  to  her  wish  to  be  alone 
and  pleaded  a  more  or  less  imaginary  indisposition  in  order  to 
stay  in  her  room.  Even  then,  she  was  not  quite  sure  of  being 
alone  for  the  whole  evening,  for  Matilde  sometimes  came  in 
after  dinner  and  remained  with  her  for  half  an  hour.  It  had 


viii  TAQUISARA  91 

always  been  the  countess's  habit  to  show  the  greatest  concern 
and  consideration  for  her  niece. 

But  to-night  Veronica  knew  that  she  should  not  be  dis 
turbed  :  for  she  understood  that  this  was  to  be  an  important 
epoch  in  her  life,  upon  which  all  the  future  must  depend,  and 
that,  since  she  had  asked  time  for  consideration,  Matilde  would 
not  intrude  upon  her  solitude.  Knowing  that  she  had  as 
many  hours  before  her  as  she  pleased  to  take,  she  began  the 
arduous  task  of  self-examination  by  greedily  reading  a  novel 
which  Bosio  had  given  her  two  days  earlier,  and  which  she  had 
not  opened.  Somehow,  she  fancied  that  while  she  was  reading 
her  mind  would  decide  itself.  The  immediate  question  was 
not  really  whether  she  should  accept  Bosio  or  not,  but  whether 
she  should  go  again  on  the  morrow  to  her  friend  Bianca 
Corleone,  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock.  That  Gianluca 
della  Spina  would  be  there,  she  had  not  a  doubt,  and  the  idea 
of  going  there  to  meet  him  presented  itself  to  her  mind  as  a 
dangerous  and  mad  adventure.  If  she  hesitated,  however,  it 
was  not  on  account  of  meeting  the  man  who  was  dying  of  love 
for  her,  but  rather  for  fear  of  what  Taquisara  might  think  of 
her  if  she  thus  answered  his  summons  to  the  interview.  He 
had  promised  that  he  would  not  be  present,  and  this  gave  her 
courage ;  but  Bianca  would  see  and  understand,  for  Bianca  had 
first  spoken  to  her  of  Gianluca,  that  very  morning,  and  as  for 
Taquisara,  he  would,  of  course,  soon  know  all  about  it  from  his 
friend. 

The  arguments  in  favour  of  going  were  very  strong,  since 
she  was  asked  to  say,  at  short  notice,  whether  she  would  marry 
Bosio  Macomer  or  not.  In  all  that  Matilde  had  told  Bosio 
the  elder  woman  had  been  quite  right.  Veronica  was  strongly 
prejudiced  in  his  favour,  and  what  Taquisara  had  managed  to 
say  in  a  few  words  about  the  interested  nature  of  the  proposal, 
not  only  had  little  weight  with  Veronica,  but  was  the  only 
point  which  had  not  pleased  her  in  her  interview  with  the 
Sicilian.  After  all,  he  had  attacked  her  only  near  relatives  in 
hinting,  and  more  than  hinting,  that  they  wished  to  gain 
possession  of  her  wealth.  She  was  really  ignorant  of  the  fact 
that  Cardinal  Campodonico  had  so  rarely  even  made  a  pre 
tence  of  inquiring  about  the  state  of  her  fortune.  She  met 
him  occasionally,  and  he  never  failed  to  say  something  pleasant 
to  her,  which  she  afterwards  remembered.  Whenever  Gre- 
gorio  Macomer  spoke  to  her  of  business,  he  used  the  cardinal's 


92  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

name  to  give  weight  to  his  statements,  and  Veronica  naturally 
supposed  that  the  princely  prelate  was  informed  of  all  that 
took  place,  and  approved  of  everything  which  Macomer  did. 
It  was  no  wonder  that  she  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  Taquisara's 
warning,  which,  as  coming  from  Gianluca's  friend,  seemed 
calculated  purposely  to  influence  her  against  marrying  Bosio. 

In  reality,  and  apart  from  the  little  superficial  argumentation 
with  which  Veronica  had  diverted  her  own  mind  during  the 
late  hours  of  the  afternoon,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that 
before  seriously  considering  the  question  of  marrying  Bosio, 
she  would  see  Gianluca  and  give  him  just  such  an  opportunity 
of  speaking  with  her  alone,  as  she  had  given  his  friend  Taqui- 
sara.  There  was  really  much  directness  of  understanding  and 
purpose  in  her  young  character,  together  with  a  fair  share  of 
tenacity ;  for,  as  Matilde  had  told  Bosio,  Veronica  was  a  Serra, 
which  was  at  least  equivalent  to  saying  that  she  was  not  an 
insignificant  person  of  weak  will  and  feeble  intelligence.  She 
was  indeed  the  last  of  her  name,  but  the  race  had  not  decayed. 
It  was  by  accident  and  by  force  of  circumstances  that  it  had 
come  to  be  represented  by  the  solitary  young  girl  who  sat 
reading  a  novel  over  her  fire  on  that  evening,  caring  very  little 
for  the  fact  that  she  was  a  very  great  personage,  related  to 
many  royal  families,  a  Grandee  of  Spain  and  a  Princess  of  the 
Holy  Roman  Empire,  all  in  her  own  right  alone,  as  Veronica 
Serra — all  of  which  advantages  Taquisara  had  hastily  recapitu 
lated  to  her  that  morning.  So  long  as  she  should  live,  the 
race  was  certainly  not  extinct,  nor  worn  out;  for  she  had  as 
much  vitality  as  all  the  tribe  of  the  Spina  family  taken  to 
gether.  She  was  not,  indeed,  conscious  of  her  untried  strength, 
for  she  had  never  yet  had  any  opportunity  of  using  it ;  and  in 
the  matter  of  the  will,  which  was  the  only  one  that  had  yet 
arisen  in  which  she  might  have  tried  herself,  she  had  yielded 
in  the  simple  desire  to  get  rid  of  a  perpetual  importunity. 
Beyond  that  she  had  attached  very  little  importance  to  it. 
Her  aunt  might  be  miserly,  but  Veronica,  in  her  youth  and 
health,  could  not  think  it  even  faintly  probable  that  she 
should  die  before  the  elder  woman  and  leave  the  latter  her 
fortune.  Taquisara's  hasty  counsel  had  therefore  fallen  in 
barren  ground.  She  scouted  the  idea  that  Gregorio  Macomer 
had  ruined  himself  in  speculations,  for  she  believed  him  to 
be  a  man  of  extraordinary  caution,  and  probably  something 
of  a  miser. 


VIII  TAQUISARA  93 

Taquisara  had  therefore  not  prejudiced  her  at  all  against 
Bosio,  nor  against  the  idea  of  marrying  the  latter.  And 
Matilde,  as  has  been  said,  was  quite  right  in  supposing  that 
Veronica  would  see  much  in  favour  of  the  marriage. 

Bosio  was  distinctly  a  desirable  man  for  a  husband.  Nine 
women  out  of  ten  would  have  admitted  this  without  hesitation. 
The  strongest  argument  against  the  statement  seemed  to  lie  in 
the  fact  that  there  were  a  few  faintly  grey  streaks  in  his  thick 
and  silky  hair.  For  the  rest,  whatever  he  chose  to  say  of  him 
self,  he  was  still  within  the  limits  of  what  one  may  call  second 
youth.  He  was  only  between  fifteen  and  sixteen  years  older 
than  Veronica,  and  such  a  difference  of  age  between  man  and 
wife  does  not  generally  begin  to  be  felt  as  a  disadvantage  until 
the  man  is  nearly  sixty.  He  was  not  at  all  a  worn-out  dandy, 
with  no  illusions,  and  no  constitution  to  speak  of;  for  circum 
stances,  as  well  as  his  own  sober  tastes,  had  caused  him  to 
lead  a  quiet  and  restful  life,  admirably  adapted  to  his  sound 
but  delicately  organized  nature.  He  was  decidedly  good- 
looking,  especially  in  a  city  where  beauty  is  almost  the  exclusive 
distinction  of  the  other  sex.  His  figure,  though  slightly  in 
clined  to  stoutness,  was  still  graceful,  and  he  carried  himself 
with  a  good  bearing  and  a  quiet  manner,  which  might  well  pass 
for  dignity.  So  much  for  his  appearance.  Intellectually,  in 
Veronica's  narrow  experience  of  the  world,  he  was  quite  beyond 
comparison  with  any  one  she  knew.  It  is  true  that  she  really 
knew  hardly  any  one.  But  her  own  intelligence  enabled  her  to 
judge  with  tolerable  fairness  of  his  capacities,  and  she  had 
found  these  varied  and  broadly  developed,  precisely  in  the 
direction  of  her  own  tastes. 

Lastly,  Matilde  was  right  in  counting  upon  the  existing  in 
timacy  as  a  factor  in  the  case.  The  idea  of  being  suddenly 
betrothed  to  marry  an  almost  total  stranger  was  as  strongly 
repugnant  to  Veronica  as  it  seems  to  be  attractive  to  most  girls 
of  her  age  and  class  in  Southern  Italy. 

The  fact  is,  perhaps,  that  the  majority  of  such  young  girls 
learn  to  think  of  themselves  as  being  sure  to  lead  hopeless  and 
helpless  lives,  unless  they  are  married ;  and  as  very  few  of  them 
possess  such  attractions  or  advantages  as  to  make  it  a  positive 
certainty  that  they  can  marry  well,  they  grow  up  with  the  idea 
that  it  is  better  to  take  the  first  chance  than  to  risk  waiting  for 
a  second,  which  may  never  come.  To  these,  marriage  is  a 
very  uncertain  lottery ;  and  if  they  draw  a  prize,  they  are  not 


94  TAQUISARA  CHAP, 

easily  persuaded  to  throw  it  back  into  fate's  bag,  and  play  for 
another.  The  very  element  of  uncertainty  lends  excitement  to 
the  game,  and  they  readily  attribute  all  sorts  of  perfections  to 
the  imaginary  stranger  who  is  to  be  the  partner  of  their  lives. 

But  in  this,  Veronica's  ideas  were  quite  different.  She  had 
assuredly  not  been  brought  up  in  vanity  and  pride  of  station, 
and  though  naturally  proud,  she  was  not  at  all  vain.  From  her 
childhood,  however,  she  had  received  something  of  that  sort  of 
constant  consideration  which  is  the  portion  of  those  born  to 
exalted  fortunes.  She  had  never  had  less  of  it,  perhaps,  than 
in  her  aunt's  house ;  for  the  Countess  Macomer  was  not  only 
of  her  own  race  and  name,  and  therefore  too  near  to  her  to 
show  her  any  such  little  formalities  of  respect,  but  had  also,  as 
a  matter  of  policy  and  with  considerable  tact,  managed  to  keep 
the  dominant  position  in  her  own  house.  She  had  shut  out 
the  little  court  of  young  friends  who  would  very  probably  have 
gathered  round  her  niece — acquaintances  of  Veronica's  convent 
days,  older  than  herself,  but  anxious  enough  to  be  called  her 
friends — and  the  tribe  of  men,  old  and  young,  who,  in  the 
extremely  complicated  relationships  of  the  Neapolitan  nobility, 
claimed  some  right  to  be  treated  as  cousins  and  connexions  of 
the  family.  All  these  Matilde  had  strenuously  kept  away,  iso 
lating  Veronica  as  much  as  possible  from  young  people  of  her 
own  age,  and  proportionately  diminishing  both  the  girl's  power 
to  choose  a  husband  for  herself  and  her  appreciation  of  her 
own  right  to  make  the  choice.  Nevertheless,  Veronica  knew 
that  she  had  that  right,  and  she  intended  to  exercise  it.  Un 
consciously,  however,  her  judgment  had  been  guided  towards 
the  selection  of  Bosio,  so  that  she  was  now  by  no  means  so 
free  an  agent  as  she  supposed  herself  to  be.  She  did  not  love 
him  at  all ;  but  she  liked  him  very  much,  and  admired  him, 
and  since  it  was  time  for  her  to  be  married,  she  was  strongly 
inclined  to  choose  for  her  husband  the  only  man  of  her 
acquaintance  whom  she  both  admired  and  liked. 

These  long  and  tedious  explanations  are  necessary  in  order 
to  explain  how  it  came  about  that  Veronica  Serra,  with  her 
great  position  and  vast  estates,  seriously  thought  of  uniting 
herself  with  such  a  comparatively  obscure  personage  as  Count 
Bosio  Macomer.  Taquisara  had  very  fairly  described  the 
latter's  position  to  her  that  morning  as  that  of  an  insignificant 
poor  gentleman,  in  no  point  of  name  or  fortune  the  superior  of 
five  hundred  others,  and  who  might  naturally  be  supposed  to 


viii  TAQUISARA  95 

covet  the  dignities  and  the  wealth  which  Veronica  could  confer 
upon  him.  But  Veronica  had  resented  both  the  description 
and  the  suggestions  which  had  accompanied  it,  which  showed 
well  enough  how  strong  her  inclination  really  was. 

On  the  other  side,  there  remained  the  impression  made  upon 
her  by  what  Taquisara  had  said  for  Gianluca,  and  last  of  all 
the  impression  made  upon  her  by  Taquisara  himself,  as  a  man, 
and  as  a  standard  by  which  to  measure  other  men  in  the  future. 

With  regard  to  Gianluca,  Veronica  was  indeed  curious,  but 
she  was  also  somewhat  sceptical.  She  could  not,  of  course, 
say  surely  that  a  young  man  might  not  die  of  love  for  a  girl 
whom  he  scarcely  knew ;  and  among  the  acquaintances  of  her 
family  she  remembered  at  least  one  case  in  converse,  where  a 
morbid  maiden  of  eighteen  years  had  died  because  she  was  not 
allowed  to  marry  the  man  she  loved.  Even  there,  it  had  been 
hinted  that  the  girl  had  caught  a  bad  cold  which  had  fastened 
upon  her  delicate  lungs.  It  was  doubtless  a  romantic  story, 
and  if  anything  appealed  to  her  for  Gianluca,  it  was  the 
romance  in  his  case.  Her  reading  had  been  very  limited  as 
yet,  and  the  book  she  was  reading  so  eagerly  was  a  French 
translation  of  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor.  The  romance  of  it 
spoke  directly  to  her  imagination;  but  when  the  book  was 
closed  she  did  not  believe  that  she  had  a  romantic  disposition. 
It  is  an  indisputable  fact  that  the  people  to  whom  the  strangest 
things  happen  never  regard  themselves  as  romantic  characters, 
whatever  others  may  think  of  them.  They  are,  indeed,  more 
often  active  and  daring  people,  to  whom  what  others  think 
extraordinary  seems  quite  natural  and  easy.  They  make  the 
events  out  of  which  humanity's  appetite  for  romance  is  fed,  and 
become,  to  humanity,  themselves  the  unconscious  embodiments 
of  romance  itself.  In  her  heart,  therefore,  Veronica  was  a  little 
sceptical  about  the  reality  of  the  terrific  passion  by  which, 
according  to  Taquisara,  his  friend  was  consumed.  She  recalled 
his  face  distinctly,  as  she  had  seen  him  half  a  dozen  times  in 
the  world,  and  she  thought  the  definition  of  him  which  she  had 
given  Bianca  Corleone  a  very  just  one.  He  reminded  her  of 
one  of  Perugino's  angels— with  a  youthful  beard.  If  angels 
had  beards,  she  thought,  without  a  smile,  they  would  have 
beards  like  Gianluca  della  Spina's,  very  youthful,  scanty, 
curling,  and  so  fair  as  to  be  almost  colourless. 

She  remembered  that  he  had  looked  at  her  rather  sadly,  and 
had  spoken  little  and  to  no  purpose,  making  futile  remarks 


96  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

about  juvenile  amusements,  and  one  or  two  harmless  little 
jokes  which  she  had  quite  forgotten,  but  to  which  he  had 
referred  at  the  next  short  meeting,  at  some  other  house,  on  the 
corner  of  some  other  similar  sofa.  That  was  all  that  she  could 
call  up  out  of  her  memories.  She  had  thought  him  insipid. 
Once  she  remembered  distinctly  that  while  he  had  been  talking 
to  her,  she  had  been  watching  Bianca  Corleone's  handsome 
brother,  Gianforte,  whom  she  had  seen  only  once  before,  and 
that  when  her  companion  had  asked  her  to  agree  with  him,  she 
had  said  '  yes,'  without  having  the  least  idea  of  what  he  had 
been  saying.  He  had  produced  only  a  very  slight  and  trans 
parent  shadow  amongst  the  figures  of  her  recollections.  It  was 
a  severe  tax  on  her  credulity  to  try  and  believe  that  he  was 
dying  for  love  of  her.  If  it  were  true,  she  thought,  why  had  he 
not  had  the  courage  to  make  her  understand  it  ?  The  fact  that 
the  offer  made  by  his  family  had  not  been  communicated  to 
her  might  have  been  hard  to  explain,  but  she  was  not  disturbed 
for  want  of  an  explanation.  She  did  not  care  for  the  man  in 
the  least,  and  there  might  be  fifty  reasons  why  her  aunt  and 
uncle  should  think  him  undesirable.  On  the  whole  she  believed 
that  Taquisara  had  enormously  exaggerated  the  state  of  the 
case.  The  Sicilian  himself  impressed  her  as  singularly  honest 
and  bold,  but  she  was  much  more  ready  to  believe  that  the 
friend  who  had  sent  him  might  have  interested  views,  than  that 
Bosio  Macomer,  whom  she  liked  and  admired,  was  anxious  to 
get  possession  of  her  fortune. 

Taquisara  himself  had  struck  her  as  something  new  in 
the  way  of  a  man,  of  a  sort  such  as  she  had  never  seen 
nor  dreamt  of,  and  her  mind  dwelt  long  on  the  recollection  of 
the  interview.  In  some  way  which  she  could  not  explain,  she 
vaguely  connected  him  with  the  book  she  was  now  reading — 
the  Bride  of  Lammermoor;  in  other  words,  he  appeared  to  her 
in  the  light  of  a  romantic  character,  and  the  first  that  had  ever 
come  within  the  circle  of  her  experience.  His  recklessness 
of  formalities,  of  all  the  limits  supposed  to  be  set  upon  the 
conversation  of  mere  acquaintance,  of  what  she  might  or  might 
not  think  of  him  individually,  so  long  as  she  would  listen  to 
what  he  had  to  say  for  his  friend,  seemed  to  her  to  belong  to  a 
type  of  humanity  with  which  she  had  never  come  in  contact. 
He,  and  he  only,  as  yet  had  stirred  some  thought  of  another 
existence  than  the  one  which  seemed  to  lie  straight  before 
her, — a  broad,  plain  road,  as  the  wife  of  Bosio. 


viii  TAQUISARA  97 

Of  love,  indeed,  there  was  nothing  in  her  heart,  for  any  man. 
Within  her  all  was  yet  dim  and  still  as  a  sweet  summer's  night 
before  the  dawning.  In  her  firmament  still  shone  the  myriad 
stars  that  were  her  maiden  thoughts,  not  yet  lost  in  the  high 
twilight,  to  be  forgotten  when  love's  sun  should  rise,  in  peace, 
or  storm,  as  rise  he  must.  Under  her  feet,  low,  virgin  flowers 
still  bloomed  in  dusk,  such  as  she  should  find  not  again  in  the 
rose  gardens  or  the  thorn-land  that  lay  before  her.  In  maiden 
hood's  tender  eyes  the  greater  tenderness  of  woman  awaited 
still  the  coming  day. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  weather  changed  during  the  night,  and  when  Veronica 
awoke  in  the  morning  the  gusty  south-west  was  driving  the  rain 
from  the  roof  of  the  opposite  house  into  a  grey  whirl  of  spray 
that  struck  across  swiftly,  to  scourge  the  thick  panes  with  a 
thousand  lashes  of  watery  lace. 

As  Veronica  watched  her  maid  opening  the  heavy  old- 
fashioned  shutters,  one  by  one,  the  sight  of  each  wet  window 
hurt  her  a  little  more,  progressively,  until,  when  all  were  visible, 
she  could  have  cried  out  of  sheer  disappointment.  For  she 
had  unconsciously  been  looking  forward  to  another  day  like 
yesterday,  calm  and  clear  and  peaceful  with  much  sunshine. 
But  even  in  Naples  it  cannot  always  be  spring  in  December — 
though  it  generally  is  in  January.  She  had  hoped  for  just  such 
another  day  as  the  preceding  one.  She  had  remembered  how 
she  and  Taquisara  had  stood  in  the  sunlight  by  the  marble 
steps  in  Bianca  Corleone's  garden,  and  she  had  expected  to 
stand  there  again  this  morning  with  Gianluca,  to  hear  what  he 
had  to  say. 

That  was  impossible,  however,  and  while  she  was  slowly 
dressing  she  tried  to  decide  what  she  should  do.  It  was  easy 
enough  to  make  up  her  mind  that  she  must  see  Gianluca,  but 
it  was  much  more  difficult  to  determine  exactly  how  she  should 
find  an  excuse  for  going  out  alone  on  such  a  morning.  It 
seemed  probable  that,  whatever  she  might  propose  as  a  reason, 
her  aunt  would  immediately  wish  to  accompany  her.  They 
had  given  her  the  afternoon  and  the  evening  of  the  previous 

G 


98  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

day  in  which  to  think  over  her  answer,  and  Matilde  might 
naturally  enough  expect  to  hear  it  this  morning.  In  any  case 
she  should  not  be  able  to  order  the  carriage  and  slip  out  alone 
as  she  had  done  the  first  time.  She  had  meant  to  go  out 
on  foot  with  her  maid,  and  then  to  take  a  cab  in  the  street  and 
drive  to  the  villa.  But  in  such  weather  as  this  she  could  not 
do  such  a  thing  without  exciting  remark.  It  was  a  week-day, 
and  there  were  no  masses  to  hear,  as  an  excuse,  by  the  time 
she  was  dressed. 

She  watched  herself  in  the  glass,  while  her  maid  was  doing 
her  hair.  The  dull  light  of  the  rainy  morning  made  her  own 
face  look  grey  and  sallow.  She  had  not  slept  very  well,  and 
her  eyes  were  heavy,  she  thought.  The  glaring  whiteness  of 
the  thing  she  had  thrown  over  her  shoulders  while  her  hair  was 
being  brushed  made  her  look  worse.  She  had  little  vanity 
about  her  appearance,  as  a  rule,  but  on  that  particular  day  she 
would  have  been  glad  to  look  her  best. 

Not  that  she  at  all  believed  that  Gianluca  was  dying  for  her; 
but  he  was  certainly  in  love  with  her.  Of  that  she  felt  sure,  for 
she  could  not  suppose  that  Taquisara  himself  was  not  con 
vinced  of  the  fact.  Nor  had  she  the  smallest  beginning  of  a 
tender  sentimentality  about  the  fair-haired  young  man.  Never 
theless,  if  she  was  to  meet  him,  she  did  not  wish  to  be  positively 
ugly,  as  she  seemed  to  be  to  herself  when  she  looked  into  the 
mirror,  facing  the  dulness  of  the  rain-beaten  window.  Whether 
she  herself  was  ever  to  care  for  him  or  not,  she  somehow  did 
not  wish  to  disappoint  him  by  her  appearance,  and  the  undefined 
fear  lest  she  might,  affected  her  spirits.  Then,  before  she  had 
quite  finished  dressing,  Matilde  Macomer  knocked  at  the  door 
and  came  in.  She  was  looking  far  worse  than  Veronica,  and 
from  the  absence  of  colour  in  her  face,  her  eyes  seemed  to  be 
more  near  together  than  ever.  Her  appearance  made  Veronica 
feel  a  little  more  hopeful,  and  the  young  girl  said  to  herself  that 
after  all  the  light  of  a  rainy  day  was  unbecoming  to  every  one, 
and  much  more  so  to  a  woman  of  forty  than  to  a  girl  of 
twenty. 

She  did  not  wish  to  be  alone  with  her  aunt  if  she  could  help 
it,  and  she  promptly  invented  several  little  things  for  her  maid 
to  do,  in  order  to  keep  the  latter  in  the  room.  The  maid  was 
a  thin,  dark  woman  of  middle  age,  from  the  mountains.  She 
was  a  widow,  and  her  husband  had  been  an  under-steward  on 
the  Serra  estate  at  Muro,  who  had  been  brutally  murdered  five 


IX  TAQUISARA  99 

years  earlier  by  half  a  dozen  peasants  whose  rents  had  been 
raised,  when  he  endeavoured  to  exact  payment.  The  rents  had 
been  raised  by  Gregorio  Macomer,  and  the  woman  knew  it, 
and  remembered.  But  she  was  very  quiet  and  grave,  and 
seemed  to  be  satisfied  with  her  position.  She  was  certainly 
devoted  to  Veronica.  Matilde  glanced  at  her  two  or  three 
times,  as  though  wishing  her  to  go,  but  Veronica  paid  no 
attention  to  the  hint. 

After  exchanging  a  few  words  with  her  niece  the  countess 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  nervously  and  seeming  to  hesitate 
as  to  what  she  should  say.  She  was  horribly  anxious,  and  very 
much  afraid  of  betraying  her  anxiety.  She  knew  how  dangerous 
it  might  be  to  press  Veronica  for  an  answer  before  it  was  ready. 
And  Veronica  stood  before  a  tall  dressing-mirror,  making  dis 
jointed  remarks  about  the  weather,  between  her  instructions  to 
her  maid,  while  apparently  altogether  dissatisfied  with  her  appear 
ance.  First  she  wished  a  little  pin  at  her  throat,  and  then  she 
gave  it  back  to  the  woman  and  told  her  to  look  for  another 
which  she  well  knew  would  be  hard  to  find.  Then  she  quar 
relled  with  a  belt  she  wore, — for  just  then  belts  were  in  fashion, 
as  they  are  periodically  without  the  slightest  reason, — and  she 
thought  that  perhaps  she  would  not  wear  one  at  all,  and  she 
asked  Matilde's  opinion. 

The  countess  forced  herself  to  consider  the  matter  with  an 
appearance  of  interest.  But  she  was  not  without  resources,  and 
she  suddenly  bethought  her  of  a  belt  of  her  own  which  Vero 
nica  might  try,  and  sent  the  maid  for  it,  apparently  oblivious  of 
the  fact  that,  being  fitted  to  her  own  imposing  figure,  it  would 
be  far  too  long  for  her  niece.  As  soon  as  the  woman  had  shut 
the  door  Matilde  seized  her  opportunity. 

"Have  you  come  to  any  conclusion,  Veronica  dear?"  she 
asked,  making  her  voice  full  of  a  gentle  preoccupation. 

"  I  have  not  seen  Bosio,"  answered  the  young  girl.  "  How 
can  I  decide,  until  I  have  seen  him?" 

"  I  thought  that  you  did  not  wish  to  see  him  last  night — " 

"  No — not  last  night.  I  wished  to  be  alone — but — one  of 
these  days,  I  should  like  to  talk  to  him." 

"  One  of  these  days !  To-day,  dear.  Why  not  ?  He  is 
naturally  anxious  for  your  answer — " 

"  Is  he  ?  It  seems  so  strange !  We  have  seen  each  other 
every  day,  for  so  long — and  I  never  supposed — " 

She  broke  off,  not,  apparently,  from  any  shyness  about  going 


ioo  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

into  the  subject,  but  because  she  was  very  much  interested  in 
the  fastening  of  the  second  pin  she  had  tried. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  much  better  not  to  wear  any  jewelry  at  all," 
she  said,  with  exasperating  indifference. 

"  Until  you  are  married  ! "  answered  Matilde,  who  was  not  to 
be  kept  from  the  matter  in  hand.  "  You  see,  everything  turns 
upon  that,"  she  continued,  with  a  low  laugh.  "  The  sooner  it 
is  decided,  the  sooner  you  may  wear  your  jewels.  No,"  she 
went  on  rapidly.  "  Of  course  you  never  suspected  that  Bosio 
loved  you,  and  he  would  have  been  very  wrong  to  let  you  know 
it,  until  your  uncle  and  I  had  given  our  permission.  But  he 
was  diffident  even  about  mentioning  the  matter  to  us.  You 
cannot  have  known  him  so  long  without  having  discovered  that 
he  has  great  delicacy  of  feeling.  He  did  not  like  to  suggest  the 
marriage.  You  will  see  when  you  talk  with  him  after  this.  I 
have  very  much  doubt  whether  he  will  have  the  boldness  to 
speak  very  directly — " 

"  How  absurd  ! "  exclaimed  Veronica.  "  As  though  we  did 
not  know  each  other  intimately  ! " 

"Yes,  but  that  is  the  man's  nature,  and  I  like  it  in  him.  You 
can  easily  manage  to  let  him  understand  at  the  first  word  what 
you  have  decided.  But  if  you  would  tell  me  first, — especially 
if  you  mean  to  refuse, — it  would  be  better.  I  myself  wish  only 
the  happiness  of  you  both.  You  must  be  absolutely  free  in 
your  decision.  After  all,  I  daresay  that  you  will  refuse  him." 

With  great  mastery  of  her  tone  and  manner,  she  spoke  in  an 
indifferent  way.  She  was  trying  the  dangerous  experiment  of 
playing  a  little  upon  Veronica's  contrariety.  The  young  girl 
laughed. 

"That  is  not  at  all  certain!"  she  answered.  "Only  I  do  not 
see  why  you  should  all  be  in  such  a  hurry.  If  Bosio  has  been 
in  love  with  me  so  long  as  you  say,  he  will  remain  in  love  long 
enough  for  me  to  think  over  the  matter,  will  he  not  ?  If  he  has 
been  in  a  state  of  anxiety  for  weeks,  it  will  not  hurt  him  to  be 
anxious  for  one  day  more — or  a  week  more — or  even  a  month. 
After  all,  it  is  for  all  my  life,  you  know,  Aunt  Matilde.  I  must 
see  how  the  idea  looks  when  I  am  used  to  it.  I  am  not  a  child, 
and  I  am  not  foolishly  frightened  at  the  idea  of  being  married, 
nor  out  of  my  mind  with  joy  at  it,  either,  like  a  girl  of  the 
people." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Matilde,  growing  a  little  pale  with  sheer 
nervousness. 


IX  TAQUISARA  lol 

"I  daresay  that  we  should  be  very  happy  together,"  continued 
Veronica.  "  But  how  can  I  possibly  be  sure  of  it  ?  No — I 
suppose  that  one  is  never  sure  of  anything  until  one  has  tried, 
but  one  may  feel  almost  sure  that  one  is  going  to  be  sure ;  that 
is  what  I  want,  before  I  say  '  yes.'  Do  you  wonder  ?  " 

"Oh,  no!"  answered  the  countess,  quickly  agreeing  with  her. 
"  On  the  contrary — " 

At  this  point  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  return 
of  the  maid.  The  belt,  as  was  to  be  expected,  did  not  fit  at  all, 
and  Veronica  put  on  her  own  again.  The  maid  moved  about 
the  room,  setting  things  in  order. 

"  Give  him  a  sign,  if  you  wish  him  to  speak  when  you  meet," 
said  Matilde,  in  a  low  voice.  "It  will  be  so  much  easier  for 
him.  Wear  a  flower  in  your  frock  to-night  at  dinner — any 
flower.  May  I  tell  him  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Veronica,  for  it  seemed  a  charitable  sug 
gestion  so  far  as  Bosio  was  concerned.  "  I  am  going  out,  now," 
she  added,  suddenly.  "  May  I  have  the  carriage  ?  " 

"  Certainly.     Shall  we  go  together  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  do  not  want  you  at  all ! "  cried  the  young  girl, 
frankly  and  laughing.  "  I  have  a  secret.  I  will  take  Elettra 
with  me." 

Elettra  was  the  name  of  the  maid. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Matilde.  "  I  suppose  you  will  tell  me 
the  secret  some  day.  Is  it  connected  with  New  Year's  presents? 
There  are  three  weeks  yet.  You  have  plenty  of  time." 

Veronica  laughed  again,  which  was  undoubtedly  equivalent  to 
admitting  her  aunt's  explanation,  and  therefore  not,  in  theory, 
perfectly  truthful.  But  she  did  not  wish  the  countess  to  know 
that  she  was  going  to  Bianca  Corleone's  house,  since  Matilde 
would  of  course  suppose,  if  she  knew  it,  that  she  was  going  to 
consult  Bianca  about  accepting  Bosio,  which  was  not  true  either. 
She  laughed,  therefore,  and  said  nothing,  having  got  the  use  of 
the  carriage,  which  was  all  she  wanted. 

"  It  is  horrible  weather,"  observed  Matilde,  looking  at  the 
window,  upon  which  the  rain  was  beating  like  wet  whips,  making 
the  panes  rattle  and  shake. 

"Yes,  but  I  want  some  air,"  answered  Veronica,  in  a  tone  of 
decision. 

At  such  a  time  it  was  not  safe  to  irritate  the  girl  even  about 
the  smallest  matter,  and  Matilde  said  nothing  more,  though 
under  other  circumstances  she  would  have  made  objections. 


102  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

As  it  was  not  yet  time  to  go  out,  and  in  order  to  get  rid  of  her 
aunt,  Veronica  bade  Elettra  take  out  a  ball  gown  which  needed 
some  change  and  improvement.  Matilde  understood  well  enough 
that  it  was  useless  to  wait  longer  for  the  chance  of  being  again 
alone  with  her  niece,  and  in  a  few  minutes  she  went  away. 

On  the  whole,  she  had  the  impression  that  the  prospect  was 
very  good.  But  after  she  had  closed  the  door,  she  turned  in 
the  outer  room,  stood  still  a  moment  and  looked  back,  allowing 
her  face  for  a  moment  to  betray  what  she  felt.  The  expression 
was  a  strange  one ;  for  it  showed  doubt,  fear,  conditional  hatred, 
and  potential  vengeance — a  complicated  state  of  mind,  which 
the  cleverest  judge  of  human  faces  could  hardly  have  under 
stood  from  Matilde's  features.  Then,  with  bent  head,  and 
closed  hands  hanging  by  her  sides,  she  went  on  her  way. 

An  hour  later  Veronica  and  her  maid  were  driving  through 
the  rain  westward,  towards  Bianca's  villa.  As  they  approached 
their  destination,  Veronica  felt  that  she  was  by  no  means  as  calm 
and  indifferent  as  she  had  expected  to  be.  Yesterday,  it  had 
seemed  a  very  simple  matter  to  go  to  the  garden,  to  find  Gianluca 
there,  to  walk  ten  or  twenty  paces  with  him  out  of  hearing 
of  Bianca,  and  to  listen  to  what  he  had  to  say.  In  a  manner  it 
had  seemed,  indeed,  a  wild  and  romantic  adventure,  which  she 
should  remember  all  her  life.  But  it  had  looked  easy  to 
do,  whereas  now,  all  at  once,  it  looked  very  hard.  Again  and 
again,  on  the  way,  she  was  on  the  point  of  stopping  the  carriage 
and  returning.  It  all  looked  so  different,  at  the  last  minute, 
from  what  she  had  expected. 

It  was  raining,  and  she  should  find  Bianca  indoors.  Prob 
ably  she  would  be  sitting  in  her  boudoir,  beyond  the  drawing- 
room,  and  Pietro  Ghisleri  would  be  with  her.  Veronica  would 
have  to  give  some  little  excuse  or  reason  for  coming,  on  his 
account,  even  though  Bianca  was  her  intimate  friend.  Prob 
ably  Gianluca  would  be  there  already,  for  it  was  past  eleven 
o'clock,  and  Bianca  would  understand  that  his  coming  was 
the  result  of  what  Taquisara  had  said  to  Veronica  on  the 
previous  day.  She  would  not  show  that  she  understood,  even 
to  Veronica,  because  she  was  tactful,  but  Veronica  knew  that 
she  was  sure  to  blush,  in  spite  of  herself,  at  the  thought  that 
Bianca  knew  why  she  had  come.  Then,  too,  in  the  drawing- 
room,  or  the  boudoir,  it  would  not  be  easy  to  be  alone  with 
Gianluca.  She  could  not  get  up  and  go  and  stare  stupidly  out 
of  the  window  at  the  rain,  taking  him  with  her. 


IX  TAQUISARA  103 

She  was  naturally  too  obstinate  to  change  her  mind,  and 
turn  back ;  yet  by  the  time  the  brougham  drove  into  Bianca's 
gate,  she  really  hoped  that  Gianluca  might  not  come  at  all. 
But  when  she  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  house,  she  already 
hoped  that  he  might  be  there.  Her  doubts  were  soon  set 
at  rest  by  the  sight  of  his  thin  face  and  almost  colourless  beard, 
in  the  distance,  as  the  servant  opened  the  door  of  the  drawing- 
room.  Bianca  was  seated  at  the  piano,  and  Gianluca  was 
standing  on  one  side  of  her,  while  Ghisleri  bent  over  her  on  the 
other,  looking  at  the  sheet  of  music  before  her.  She  rose, 
as  Veronica  entered, — a  queenly  young  figure,  with  a  lovely, 
fateful  face.  To-day  her  eyes  were  dark  and  shadowy,  and 
Veronica  thought  that  she  must  have  been  crying  in  the  night. 

Gianluca  had  started  visibly  when  Veronica  had  appeared,  but 
she  did  not  look  at  him  until  she  had  kissed  Bianca,  and  had 
spoken  to  Ghisleri,  who  now,  for  the  first  time,  understood  the 
meaning  of  Gianluca's  unexpected  morning  visit.  Bianca  had 
guessed  it  almost  immediately,  and  had  purposely  sat  down 
to  the  piano  to  look  over  the  music.  It  would  seem  natural,  she 
thought,  when  Veronica  came,  that  she  should  resume  her  seat, 
and  play  or  sing,  with  Ghisleri  to  turn  over  the  pages  for  her, 
while  Veronica  and  Gianluca  could  talk.  She  was  too  loyal  to 
her  friend  and  too  discreet,  to  have  given  Ghisleri  a  hint,  even 
had  she  been  able  to  do  so  after  Gianluca  had  come.  But 
events  proved  to  her  that  she  was  right. 

When  Veronica,  at  last,  spoke  to  the  younger  man,  there  was 
an  evident  constraint  in  her  manner.  He,  on  his  part,  blushed 
suddenly  pink,  and  then  turned  white  again,  almost  in  a 
moment.  He  put  out  his  hand  nervously,  and  then  withdrew  it, 
not  finding  Veronica's,  but  before  he  had  quite  taken  it  back, 
hers  came  forward,  and  hesitated  in  the  air.  Then  he  took  it, 
and  both  smiled  in  momentary  embarrassment  over  the  incident, 
and  a  little  at  the  thought  of  having  shaken  hands  at  all,  for  it 
is  a  custom  reserved  in  the  south  for  married  women. 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  go  on  trying  this  song  ?  "  asked  Bianca, 
sitting  down  to  the  piano  again.  "  Talk  as  much  as  you  please," 
she  added.  "  I  do  not  know  it — I  only  wish  to  look  it  over." 

Veronica  was  surprised  at  the  ease  and  simplicity  with  which 
matters  were  arranged,  and  in  a  few  seconds  she  found  herself 
sitting  beside  Gianluca,  on  a  narrow  sofa  at  some  distance  from 
Bianca  and  Ghisleri.  Gianluca  looked  at  her  sideways,  and 
then  a  moment  later  she  looked  at  him  ;  but  their  eyes  did  not 


104  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

meet.  She  had  only  glanced  at  him  once,  and  for  an  instant  after 
they  had  sat  down,  side  by  side,  but  she  had  got  a  good  view  of 
his  face  in  that  one  look.  It  was  evident  to  her  that  he  was 
really  ill,  whatever  might  be  the  cause  of  his  illness.  The 
delicate  features  were  unnaturally  thin  and  drawn,  and  there 
were  blue  shadows  at  the  temples  such  as  consumptive  men 
often  have.  The  blue  eyes  were  sunk  too  deep,  and  there  were 
hollows  above  the  lids,  under  the  brows.  His  figure,  too, 
though  tall  and  well  proportioned,  had  seemed  frail  to  her  when 
she  had  seen  him  standing  by  the  piano,  and  his  hands  were 
positively  emaciated. 

She  could  not  help  pitying  him.  But  it  is  only  pity  for 
sorrow,  or  for  trouble,  that  is  akin  to  love,  not  pity  for  physical 
weakness ;  unless,  perhaps,  a  woman  is  very  certainly  sure  that 
such  weakness  is  indeed  the  result  of  love  for  herself,  wearing 
the  man  out  night  and  day — and  then  the  pity  she  feels  is 
instantly  all  but  love  itself  and  in  fact  often  more  than  love  in 
deeds.  But  Veronica  had  no  such  certainty.  She  still  believed 
that  Taquisara  had  overshot  the  mark  of  truth.  She  waited  for 
Gianluca  to  speak. 

"  We  have  met — I  have  had  the  honour  of  meeting  you — 
several  times  already,  Donna  Veronica,  since  you  came  from 
the  convent,"  he  said  at  last,  after  a  little  preliminary  cough. 

"  Oh  yes  ! "  answered  Veronica,  with  a  smile.  "  We  have 
often  met.  I  know  you  very  well." 

"  I  was  not  quite  sure  whether  you  remembered  me,"  he 
said. 

He  looked  at  her,  and  the  blood  rose  and  fell  quickly  in  his 
cheeks,  and  his  hands  moved  uneasily  as  he  clasped  them  upon 
one  of  his  knees. 

"  You  must  think  that  I  have  a  very  poor  memory,"  observed 
Veronica,  still  smiling,  not  intentionally,  but  because  she  was 
young  enough,  and  therefore  cruel  enough,  to  be  amused  by 
his  embarrassment.  "The  last  time  I  saw  you  was  at  the 
theatre,  I  think — at  the  opening  night,  last  week — ten  days  ago 
— when  was  it  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  quickly.  "That  was  the  last  time  I 
saw  you  ;  but  the  last  time  we  spoke  was  at  the  San  Giuliano's." 

"Was  it?  I  do  not  remember.  We  have  often  talked — a 
little— at  different  places." 

"  I  remember  very  well,"  said  Gianluca,  with  a  good  deal  of 
emphasis  and  looking  earnestly  at  her. 


IX  TAQUISARA  105 

Veronica  tried  to  recall  the  conversation  on  the  occasion  to 
which  he  referred,  but  could  not  remember  a  word  of  it. 

"  Did  I  say  anything  especial,  that  time  ? "  she  asked, 
wondering  whether  she  had  then  unfortunately  answered  '  yes,' 
in  a  fit  of  absence  of  mind,  to  some  question  of  hidden  import 
which  he  had  perhaps  addressed  to  her. 

"  Oh  yes  ! "  he  answered,  promptly.  "  You  told  me  that  you 
liked  white  roses  better  than  red  ones.  You  see,  I  have  a  good 
memory." 

"  That  was  a  tremendously  important  statement."  Veronica 
laughed,  somewhat  relieved  by  the  information. 

"  I  always  remember  everything  you  say,"  said  Gianluca.  "  I 
think  I  know  by  heart  all  you  have  ever  said  to  me." 

He  spoke  with  a  sort  of  grave  and  almost  child-like  conviction. 

"I  shall  remember  everything  you  say  to-day,"  he  added, 
after  a  moment's  pause. 

"  I  hope  not !  "  exclaimed  Veronica.  "  I  sometimes  say  very 
foolish  things,  not  at  all  worth  remembering,  I  assure  you." 

rt  But  what  you  say  is  worth  everything  to  me,"  he  said,  with 
another  sudden  blush,  and  a  quick  glance,  while  his  hands 
twitched. 

He  was  painfully  shy  and  embarrassed,  and  was  producing 
anything  but  a  favourable  impression  upon  Veronica.  She  was 
sorry  for  him,  indeed,  in  a  superior  sort  of  fashion,  but  she 
thought  of  Taquisara's  bold  eyes  and  strong  face,  and  of  Bosio 
Macomer's  quiet  and  refined  assurance  of  manner,  and  Gian 
luca  seemed  to  her  slightly  ridiculous.  It  was  in  her  blood, 
and  she  could  not  help  it.  Some  of  her  people  had  been  bad, 
and  some  good,  but  most  of  them  had  been  strong,  and  she 
liked  strength,  as  a  natural  consequence.  Moreover,  she  had 
not  enough  experience  of  the  world  to  put  Gianluca  at  his 
ease ;  and  a  sort  of  girlish  feeling  that  she  must  not  encourage 
him  to  say  too  much  made  her  answer  in  such  a  way  as  to 
throw  him  off  his  track. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so,"  she  answered,  lightly. 
"  But  I  am  sure  I  do  not  recollect  ever  saying  anything  im 
portant  enough  for  you  to  remember.  Take  what  we  are  saying 
now,  for  instance — " 

"  I  shall  know  it  all,  when  you  are  gone,"  interrupted  Gian 
luca,  harking  back  again.  "  Indeed — I  hope  you  will  not 
think  me  rude  or  presumptuous — but  I  thought  that  perhaps  I 
might  meet  you  here — if  I  came  often,  I  mean;  for  Taquisara — " 


io6  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Veronica,  as  he  hesitated.  "  I  met  Baron 
Taquisara  here  yesterday.  I  daresay  that  he  told  you  so." 

As  his  embarrassment  had  increased,  hers  had  completely 
disappeared — which  was  a  bad  sign  for  him  and  his  hopes. 

«Yes— yes.     He  told  me— 

Gianluca  leaned  back  suddenly  in  his  seat,  overcome  with  a 
sort  of  shame  at  the  thought  that  Taquisara  had  spoken  to  her 
for  him,  and  that  he  himself  could  find  nothing  to  say.  His 
face  grew  pale  and  red,  and  his  hands  trembled. 

"I  like  your  friend,"  said  Veronica,  quietly,  wondering 
whether  he  felt  ill. 

"  Yes — I  am  glad,"  answered  Gianluca.  "  He  is  a  true 
friend,  a  good  friend.  If  you  knew  him  as  well  as  I  do,  you 
would  like  him  still  better." 

Veronica  thought  this  probable,  but  refrained  from  saying  so, 
and  remained  silent.  Bianca  was  touching  gentle  chords  at 
the  piano.  Now  and  then  a  few  words,  sung  in  deep,  soft 
notes,  sad  as  the  south  wind,  floated  through  the  room,  and 
then  she  and  Ghisleri  talked  about  the  song,  paying  no  attention 
whatever  to  the  pair  on  the  sofa. 

Gianluca  sighed  and  caught  his  breath.  Veronica  glanced 
quickly  at  him,  and  then  looked  again  at  the  top  of  Ghisleri's 
head,  as  the  latter  bent  down.  She  had  not  thought  that  she 
had  expected  so  much  of  the  meeting.  She  certainly  had  not 
the  slightest  personal  feeling  for  the  man  beside  her.  And  yet, 
somehow,  she  was  dismally  disappointed.  If  this  was  the  man 
who  was  dying  of  love,  she  infinitely  preferred  Bosio  Macomer. 
Gianluca  was  evidently  in  bad  health.  He  looked  as  though 
he  might  be  in  a  decline,  and  he  was  clearly  very  nervous  and 
ill  at  ease.  But  he  did  not  speak  at  all  as  she  supposed  that  a 
man  would  who  was  deeply  in  love.  Taquisara  had  spoken  far 
better.  He  had  seemed  so  much  in  earnest  that  if  he  had 
suddenly  substituted  himself  for  Gianluca  as  the  subject  of  his 
phrases,  Veronica  could  have  believed  him  easily  enough. 

"  Then  I  may  hope  that  you  will  forgive  me  for  coming  here, 
thinking  that  I  might  meet  you  ?  "  said  the  young  man,  with  a 
question  in  his  voice. 

"  Why  should  you  not  come  ?  "  asked  Veronica,  not  unkindly, 
but  with  the  least  possible  inflexion  of  impatience. 

"  There  can  certainly  be  no  reason,  if  you  are  not  offended," 
he  answered.  "  But  if  I  thought  that  I  had  offended  you,  by 
coming,  I  should  never  forgive  myself." 


IX  TAQUISARA  107 

"But  I  should  certainly  forgive  you,  if  you  offended  me 
unintentionally.  Besides,  there  is  no  reason  in  the  world  why 
you  should  not  come  here  to  see  Bianca  whenever  you  like,  if 
she  will  receive  you.  She  goes  out  very  little.  She  is  glad  to 
see  people." 

He  was  a  man  born  to  throw  away  opportunities,  an  older 
woman  would  have  thought ;  but  Veronica  grew  impatient  at 
his  insistence  upon  useless  things,  and  his  thin,  nervous  hands 
irritated  her  vaguely  as,  looking  down,  or  in  front  of  her,  she 
could  not  help  seeing  them  clasped  upon  his  knee.  Once, 
too,  she  was  aware  that  Bianca  leaned  to  one  side  and  looked 
towards  her,  round  the  side  of  the  sheet  of  music,  as  though 
to  see  how  matters  were  progressing.  Veronica  began  to  feel 
that  she  was  in  a  ridiculous  position.  The  hesitation  and 
pauses  and  silences  had  made  the  brief  conversation  already 
last  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  In  that  time  Taquisara  had 
said  all  he  had  to  say.  Veronica  made  a  little  movement,  a 
very  slight  indication  that  she  would  presently  leave  her  seat. 
Gianluca  started  and  suddenly  gazed  earnestly  into  her  face,  so 
that  she  turned  her  head  and  met  his  eyes. 

"  Please  do  not  go  yet !  "  he  cried,  in  a  low  and  earnest  voice 
that  had  real  entreaty  in  it. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  quickly.  "  I  am  not  going.  But  I  must 
go  soon.  I  cannot  stay  long,  for  I  must  go  home  to  luncheon, 
and  I  have  not  talked  with  Bianca  at  all  yet." 

"  Yes — I  know — and  I  must  be  going  too,"  he  said,  nerv 
ously.  "  But  if  you  knew  what  it  is  to  me  to  sit  here  beside 
you  for  a  few  minutes — "  He  stopped  suddenly,  and  the 
colour  rushed  to  his  face. 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  asked  Veronica,  with  an  impatient,  womanly 
impulse  to  make  him  speak  and  have  done  with  it,  in  order 
that  there  might  be  no  more  misunderstanding. 

"  Because — because  I  love  you,  Donna  Veronica  ! "  He 
turned  quite  white  as  he  found  words  at  last.  "  I  must  say  it 
this  once,  even  if  you  never  forgive  me.  This  is  the  first 
happy  moment  I  have  had  since  I  saw  you  the  last  time.  I 
love  you — let  me  tell  you  so  before  I  die,  and  I  shall  die  happy 
if  you  will  forgive  me,  for  I  have  dreamed  of  saying  it,  and 
longed  to  say  it  so  often.  You  are  my  whole  life,  and  my  days 
and  nights  only  have  the  hours  of  my  thoughts  of  you  to  mark 
them." 

His  words  came  confusedly  and  uncontrolled,  but  his  voice 


io8  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

had  a  longing  pathetic  ring  in  it,  as  of  a  very  hopeless  appeal. 
Veronica  had  been  startled  at  first,  and  her  eyes  were  wide  and 
girlish  as  she  looked  at  him.  It  was  the  first  time  that  any 
man  had  ever  told  her  that  he  loved  her,  and  for  that  reason  it 
was  to  be  memorable ;  but  it  did  not  seem  to  be  the  first  time. 
Taquisara's  manly  pleading  and  fervent  voice  when  he  had 
spoken  yesterday  had  left  her  ears  dull  to  this  real  first  time  of 
hearing  love  speeches,  so  that  this  seemed  the  second,  and  the 
words  she  heard,  after  the  first  little  shock  of  realizing  what 
they  were,  touched  no  chord  that  would  respond. 

She  did  not  answer  at  first,  but  half  unconsciously  she  shook 
her  head,  as  she  turned  from  him  and  looked  away  once  more. 
Perhaps  that  was  the  most  unkind  thing  she  could  have  done ; 
for  it  was  so  natural,  and  simple,  and  unaffected  a  refusal,  that 
he  could  hardly  be  mistaken  as  to  her  meaning ;  and,  after  all, 
she  had  led  him  on  to  speak.  She  herself  was  shocked  at  her 
own  heartlessness  a  moment  later,  and  in  one  of  those  absurd 
concatenations  of  ideas  which  run  through  the  mind  at  im 
portant  moments,  she  felt  as  though  she  had  been  giving  a 
merchant  an  infinity  of  trouble  to  show  his  wares,  only  to  buy 
nothing  and  go  away.  Then  the  brutality  of  the  involuntary 
simile  distressed  her,  too,  and  she  felt  that  she  ought  to  say 
something  to  destroy  the  effect  of  it  on  her  own  mind,  as  well 
as  to  comfort  Gianluca.  But  she  could  not  find  much  to  say. 
Very  young  women  rarely  do,  under  the  circumstances. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said,  gently. 

She  felt  that  he  might  have  a  right  to  reproach  her  for 
coming  there,  and  she  was  grateful  to  him  for  not  doing  so, 
having  really  very  little  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  over-submissive 
and  humble  love  which  sapped  his  manliness  instead  of  rousing 
his  courage. 

"  Ah,  I  knew  it ! "  he  almost  moaned,  and  resting  his  elbows 
upon  his  knees  he  covered  his  face  with  his  delicate,  white 
hands,  that  trembled  spasmodically  now  and  then.  "  I  knew 
it,"  he  repeated  in  his  broken  voice.  "You  were  kind  to 
let  me  speak — I  kiss  your  hands — for  your  kindness — I  thank 
you — " 

His  voice  broke  altogether.  Veronica  heard  a  smothered 
sob,  and  glancing  at  him  nervously,  saw  the  tears  trickling 
down  between  his  fingers.  She  looked  up  quickly  to  see 
whether  Bianca  had  noticed  anything,  but  the  sweet,  deep 
voice  was  singing  softly  to  the  subdued  chords  of  the  piano, 


IX  TAQUISARA  109 

and  Veronica  sat  quite  still,  waiting  for  Gianluca  to  recover  his 
self-control. 

She  felt  that  she  pitied  him,  but  at  the  same  time  considered 
him  in  some  way  an  inferior  being ;  and  as  the  idea  of  marrying 
him  crossed  her  mind  again,  her  heart  started  in  repugnance  at 
the  mere  thought. 


CHAPTER  X 

VERONICA  left  Bianca  Corleone's  house  with  a  very  painful 
sense  of  disappointment,  and  as  she  drove  homeward  through 
the  wet  streets,  she  could  not  get  rid  of  Gianluca's  tearful  blue 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  follow  her  into  the  carriage ;  and  in  the 
rattling  and  jolting,  she  heard  again  and  again  that  one  weak 
sob  which  had  so  disturbed  her.  At  that  moment  she  would 
rather  have  gone  directly  back  to  the  convent  in  Rome,  to  stay 
there  for  the  rest  of  her  life,  than  have  married  such  an  un 
manly  man  as  she  believed  him  to  be.  His  words  had  left  her 
cold,  his  face  had  frozen  her,  his  tears  had  disgusted  her.  She 
pitied  him  for  his  weakness,  not  for  his  love  of  her,  and  she 
hoped  that  she  might  never  again  hear  any  man  speak  to  her 
as  he  had  spoken.  Nevertheless  there  had  been  in  his  tone, 
at  the  last,  the  doubt-splitting  accent  of  a  sharp  truth  that  hurt 
him  to  tears.  She  wondered  why  he  had  not  moved  her  at  all. 
The  day  seemed  more  grey  and  wet  and  desolate  than  ever. 
She  thought  that  everybody  in  the  street  looked  draggled  and 
disappointed.  Near  Santa  Lucia  she  passed  a  wretched  vender 
of  strong  filberts  and  doubtful  cakes,  mounting  guard  over  his 
poor  little  handcart  with  a  dilapidated  umbrella,  under  the  half- 
shelter  of  a  projecting  balcony.  A  couple  of  barefooted  boys 
crouched  on  the  wet  pavement  by  the  sea-stairs,  with  a  piece  of 
sacking  drawn  over  both  their  heads  together,  gnawing  hard 
tack,  and  as  the  rain  struck  the  stones,  it  splashed  up  in  their 
faces  under  their  sack.  On  the  left,  the  coral  shops  showed 
their  brilliant  wares  dimly  through  the  rain-streaks,  with  closed 
glass  doors  through  which  here  and  there  the  disconsolate  face 
of  the  shopkeeper  was  visible,  as  he  stood  gazing  out  upon  the 
dismal,  dripping  scene.  A  sailor  man  came  out  of  the  marine 
headquarters  at  the  turning  of  the  Strada  dei  Giganti,  bending 
his  flat  cap  against  the  rain  and  burying  his  ears  in  the  blue 


no  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

linen  collar  of  his  shirt,  which  was  turned  back  over  his  thick 
jacket.  The  water  splashed  out  from  under  his  heavy  shoes, 
to  the  right  and  left,  as  he  walked  quickly  up  the  hill.  Beyond 
that,  the  Piazza.  San  Ferdinando  was  deserted,  and  the  broad 
wet  pavement  lay  flat  and  darkly  gleaming  upward  to  the  broad, 
watery  sky  that  stretched  grey  and  even,  without  shading,  like 
a  sheet  of  wet  india  rubber  over  all  the  city.  Then  the  Toledo, 
where  the  gutters  could  not  swallow  the  deluge,  but  sent  their 
overflow  in  dark  yellow  streams  down  each  side  of  the  street — 
then  the  narrower,  darker  ways  and  lanes  between  the  high 
houses  and  the  low,  black  doorways,  through  the  heart  of  old 
Naples,  home  at  last  to  the  Palazzo  Macomer. 

Veronica  was  glad  to  get  back  to  the  fire  in  her  own  room, 
and  to  feel  dry  again — for  seeing  so  much  water  had  given  her 
the  sensation  of  being  drenched.  And  she  sat  down  to  think 
over  what  had  happened  in  the  morning,  trying  to  understand 
her  own  disappointment,  because  she  believed  that  she  had 
expected  nothing,  and  therefore  that  she  could  not  be  dis 
appointed.  She  was  very  glad  to  get  back  to  her  own  room. 
So  far  as  she  at  all  knew  what  a  home  meant,  the  Palazza 
Macomer  was  home  to  her,  and  she  had  no  distinct  recollection 
of  any  other.  Gregorio  and  Matilde  and  Bosio  were  her  own 
family,  so  far  as  she  had  ever  known  what  to  understand  by 
the  word.  They  were  more  familiar  to  her  than  any  other 
people  in  the  world  possibly  could  be,  and  if  she  felt  that  she 
had  little  affection  for  her  aunt  and  uncle,  yet  she  knew  that 
there  was  a  bond ;  and  she  was  sincerely  attached  to  Bosio  for 
his  own  sake. 

She  had  photographs  of  all  three  on  the  mantelpiece,  in 
silver  frames, — that  of  her  aunt  standing  in  the  middle,  and 
one  of  the  men  on  either  side.  She  looked  at  Bosio's,  taking 
it  down  from  its  place.  She  looked  at  it  critically,  and  seeing 
a  speck  of  dust  on  the  glass,  just  over  the  face,  she  passed  her 
handkerchief  over  it,  polishing  the  surface,  and  looking  at  it 
again.  From  the  photograph  any  one  would  have  said  that 
Bosio  was  a  handsome  man,  for  he  photographed  well,  as  the 
phrase  goes.  His  clear,  pale  complexion,  his  well-cut,  refined 
features,  his  smooth,  thick,  silky  hair  looked  singularly  well 
against  the  smoked  background,  and  had  at  once  the  strength 
and  the  transparency  which  make  a  good  photograph  by  adding 
an  illusion  of  relief  to  the  flatness  of  mere  outline  and  light  and 
shade.  Probably  the  likeness  was  flattered.  But  Veronica 


X  TAQUISARA  in 

did  not  think  so  just  then,  coming  as  she  did  from  a  disillusion 
ment  which  had  affected  her  more  strongly  than  she  knew. 
She  compared  Bosio  with  Gianluca,  in  appearance,  and  Gian- 
luca  lacked  almost  everything  which  could  bear  comparison. 
She  compared  Bosio  with  Taquisara,  and  she  preferred  the 
quiet  refinement  of  the  one  to  the  bold  eyes  and  high  aquiline 
features  of  the  other.  At  least,  she  thought  so.  But  she  also 
preferred  Taquisara  to  Gianluca,  by  many  degrees  of  preference. 
Yet  both  these  men  were  commonly  spoken  of  as  handsome. 

She  thought  of  another  point,  too,  and  with  her  blood  it  was 
natural  that  she  should  think  of  it.  If  she  married  Bosio,  he 
would  take  her  name  and  titles  ;  not  she,  his.  She  would  rule 
the  house  and  be  independent — not  of  him,  exactly,  for  she 
was  fond  of  him  and  had  no  desire  to  be  despotic  over  him, 
but  of  parents  and  elders  and  relations  who  would  think  it  their 
right  to  advise  and  guide.  All  this  would  be  different  with 
Gianluca  for  her  husband.  The  Delia  Spina  were  proud  of  their 
name  and  would  expect  her  to  bear  it.  They  were  numerous, 
too ;  the  old  father  and  mother  would  oppress  and  burden  her 
life,  and  the  brothers  and  sisters  of  Gianluca  would  grow  up  to 
be  more  or  less  of  a  perpetual  annoyance  to  their  elder  brother's 
wife.  Of  that  side  of  life  her  aunt  had  given  her  more  than 
one  picture,  intentionally  exaggerating  a  little,  perhaps,  for  her 
own  purposes.  And  from  Bianca  she  had  heard  many  things 
of  the  same  kind.  Married  to  Bosio,  she  would  be  free  alto 
gether  from  any  one's  interference  in  her  household. 

She  met  them  all  at  luncheon,  and  was  struck  by  the  fact 
that  both  men,  as  well  as  Matilde,  looked  pale  and  harassed, 
as  though  they  had  slept  little.  For  there  was  little  sleep  or 
rest,  except  for  Veronica,  during  those  days  of  gnawing  anxiety. 
She  was  struck,  too,  and  startled,  by  Gregorio's  hideous  laugh, 
which  broke  out  twice  during  the  meal  without  any  apparent 
reason.  Even  the  servants  seemed  to  shudder  at  it  and  looked 
at  him  anxiously,  and  Matilde's  dark  eyes  tried  to  control  him. 
Indeed,  when  she  looked  at  him,  he  seemed  docile  enough, 
except  that  his  face  twitched  very  strangely  as  he  nodded 
to  her. 

But  they  all  talked,  with  the  evident  intention  of  seeming  at 
their  ease ;  and  in  a  measure  they  succeeded,  for  they  were 
not  weaklings  like  Gianluca.  Bosio  was  by  far  the  least  strong 
in  character,  but  his  very  remarkable  self-possession  made  him 
their  equal  in  the  present  case.  On  the  previous  evening, 


ii2  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

when  Veronica  had  not  been  present,  they  had  scarcely  made 
an  effort ;  but  now  that  she  was  seated  at  table  with  them,  they 
performed  their  parts  conscientiously  and  not  without  success. 

They  were  encouraged,  too,  by  Veronica's  manner  to  Bosio. 
After  her  experience  in  the  morning  it  was  a  distinct  pleasure 
to  be  again  in  his  society,  and  she  talked  enthusiastically  to 
him  of  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor — the  book  he  had  given  her 
and  which  she  had  begun  to  read  during  her  solitary  dinner  on 
the  previous  evening.  She  was  sure  of  the  response  to  what 
she  said,  before  she  said  it,  and  it  came  surely  enough.  She 
felt  that  he  understood  her,  and  that  she  should  be  glad  to  talk 
with  him  every  day.  Several  days  had  passed  since  they  had 
been  alone  together  for  half  an  hour. 

She  compared  him  with  the  photograph  of  him,  too,  and  she 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  likeness  was  not  so  much 
flattered,  after  all.  His  unusual  pallor  to-day  had  something 
luminous  in  it,  and  the  features,  in  two  days  of  suffering,  had 
grown  thinner  with  a  sort  of  finely  chiselled  accentuation  of 
their  natural  refinement.  To-day,  he  reminded  her  of  certain 
portraits  of  Van  Dyck.  But  when  luncheon  was  over,  she 
avoided  being  alone  with  him,  for  she  had  not  yet  come  to  any 
decision.  It  would  be  more  true,  perhaps,  to  say  that  she  dis 
trusted  herself  in  the  decision  she  now  seemed  to  have  reached 
too  suddenly.  For  in  the  expansion  of  sympathy  she  enjoyed 
so  much,  it  all  at  once  seemed  to  her  that  she  could  never 
marry  any  one  but  Bosio,  who  understood  her  so  well,  who 
anticipated  what  she  was  going  to  say,  and  knew  beforehand 
what  she  thought  upon  almost  any  subject  of  conversation. 

She  had  never  been  exactly  opposed  to  the  idea,  from  the 
first ;  but  now  it  took  possession  of  her  strongly,  as  it  had  never 
done  before,  and  she  might  almost  have  taken  her  genuine 
affection  for  the  man  for  love,  if  she  had  ever  been  taught  to 
suppose  that  love  was  necessary  before  marriage.  She  had 
been  far  too  carefully  brought  up  in  Italian  ideas  of  the  old 
school,  however,  to  make  any  such  self-examination  necessary. 
She  had  been  told  that  it  was  important  that  she  should  like 
and  respect  the  man  she  was  to  marry.  She  had  no  reason  for 
not  respecting  Bosio,  so  far  as  she  knew,  and  she  certainly 
liked  him  very  much  indeed. 

But  she  meant  to  wait  until  the  evening,  and  give  herself  a 
chance  to  change  her  mind  once  more.  After  luncheon  there 
was  the  usual  adjournment  to  another  room  for  coffee,  over 


x  TAQUISARA  113 

which  the  two  men  smoked  cigarettes.  Veronica  expected  that 
Matilde  would  ask  her  by  a  gesture,  or  a  word  in  a  low  tone, 
whether  she  were  any  nearer  to  a  conclusion  than  before,  but 
the  countess  did  nothing  of  the  sort,  for  she  was  far  too  wise ; 
and  Veronica  was  grateful  for  being  left  entirely  to  her  own 
thoughts  in  the  matter.  Nor  did  Bosio  bestow  upon  her  any 
questioning  glance,  nor  betray  his  anxiety  in  any  way  except  by 
his  pallor,  which  he  could  not  help,  of  course.  Veronica 
thought  that  once  or  twice  his  eyes  brightened  unnaturally,  in 
the  course  of  conversation  ;  and  in  his  manner  towards  her  she 
might  have  fancied  that  there  was  a  shade  more  than  usual  of 
that  sort  of  affectionate  deference  which  all  women  love,  though 
they  love  it  most  in  the  strong,  and  it  sometimes  irritates  them 
a  little  in  the  weak,  for  a  passing  moment,  when  their  caprice 
would  rather  be  ruled  than  nattered.  Bosio  made  no  attempt 
to  be  alone  with  her,  and  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour  both  he 
and  his  brother  departed  to  their  own  quarters. 

Even  then,  when  she  was  alone  with  Veronica,  Matilde  did 
not  return  to  the  subject  which  was  uppermost  and  above  all 
important  in  her  mind.  With  amazing  tact  and  self-control  she 
talked  pleasantly  enough,  though  she  managed  to  place  herself 
with  her  back  to  the  light,  so  that  Veronica  could  not  see  her 
expression  clearly.  At  last  she  rose  and  said  that  she  must  go 
out.  The  weather  had  improved  a  little,  and  she  asked  Veronica 
to  go  with  her.  But  the  young  girl  had  no  desire  to  be  driven 
through  Naples  in  a  closed  carriage  a  second  time  that  day, 
and  she  went  away  to  her  own  room,  with  the  intention  of 
spending  a  quiet  afternoon  by  the  fire  with  her  novel. 

On  the  previous  evening  she  had  read  a  little  over  her  dinner, 
and  from  time  to  time  during  the  short  evening  she  had  re 
turned  to  the  book,  feeling  that  it  was  easier  to  read  than  to 
think,  and  much  more  satisfactory.  She  took  the  volume  now, 
but  she  could  not  read  at  all.  She  was  overcome  by  a  wish 
which  seemed  wholly  unaccountable,  to  send  for  Bosio  to  meet 
her  in  the  drawing-room,  and  to  tell  him  outright  that  she  was 
willing  to  marry  him.  Nothing  but  maidenly  self-respect 
prevented  her  from  doing  so  at  once,  and  the  hours  seemed 
very  long  before  dinner.  Many  times  she  rose  from  her  seat  by 
the  fire  and  moved  about  her  room  in  an  objectless  way, 
touching  things  uselessly  and  looking  for  things  which  were  not 
lost,  which  she  did  not  want,  but  which  she  could  not  find. 
She  wished  that  she  had  her  great  jewels.  She  would  have 

H 


ii4  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

tried  them  on  before  the  mirror — anything  to  pass  the  time. 
But  they  were  all  safely  stored  in  one  of  the  safest  banks. 

She  grew  more  and  more  restless  as  the  minutes  passed  and 
the  dinner  hour  approached.  Looking  at  herself  in  the  glass, 
she  said  that  her  cheeks  were  no  longer  sallow,  as  they  had 
seemed  to  be  in  the  morning.  There  was  a  fresh  colour  in 
them,  and  it  was  becoming  to  her  and  pleased  her.  Her  soft 
hair  had  fallen  a  little  upon  each  side  of  her  brows,  and  her 
eyes  were  brilliantly  bright.  She  looked  at  them  when  the 
twilight  was  coming  on,  and  they  seemed  to  shine,  with  wide 
pupils,  having  a  light  of  their  own. 

At  last  the  time  came.  Before  she  rang  for  her  maid,  who 
had  brought  lights  and  had  gone  away  again,  she  stood  a 
moment  before  the  fire  and  looked  once  more  at  Bosio's 
photograph,  asking  herself  seriously  for  the  last  time  whether 
she  should  marry  him  or  not.  But  the  answer  was  there  before 
the  question,  and  she  had  made  up  her  mind. 

At  the  last  minute,  she  had  forgotten  the  flower  she  had 
promised  to  wear,  and  she  sent  her  maid  in  haste  to  see  whether 
she  could  find  one  of  any  sort  in  the  house.  It  was  the  middle 
of  December,  and  it  was  not  probable  that  such  a  thing  could 
be  found  in  the  Palazzo  Macomer.  The  maid  came  back 
empty-handed.  Veronica  told  her  to  find  an  artificial  one,  and 
Elettra,  after  some  searching,  produced  a  very  beautiful 
artificial  gardenia,  which  Veronica  pinned  in  her  white  bodice, 
with  a  smile.  She  glanced  at  herself  once  more,  and  saw  that 
the  colour  was  still  in  her  cheeks,  and  she  was  satisfied  with 
herself. 

When  she  entered  the  drawing-room,  the  other  three  were 
already  there,  and  she  saw  the  faces  of  Matilde  and  Bosio 
change  as  they  caught  sight  of  the  flower.  Gregorio  apparently 
knew  nothing  of  the  arrangement — another  instance  of  Matilde's 
tact  which  pleased  Veronica.  Matilde  herself  was  no  longer  pale. 
She  had  seen  how  desperate  she  looked  and  had  put  a  little 
rouge  upon  her  cheeks  so  deftly  and  artistically  that  the  young 
girl  did  not  at  first  detect  the  deception.  But  her  features  had 
still  been  drawn  and  weary.  They  relaxed  suddenly  in  a 
genuine  smile  when  she  saw  the  gardenia.  But  Bosio  grew 
paler,  Veronica  thought,  and  looked  very  nervous.  At  table,  he 
was  opposite  Veronica,  and  he  reminded  her  more  than  ever  of 
Van  Dyck's  portraits,  so  that  she  wondered  why  she  had  never 
before  thought  of  the  general  resemblance.  He  talked  less  than 


X  TAQUISARA  115 

at  luncheon,  and  sometimes  his  eyes  rested  on  hers  with  an 
expression  which  she  could  not  understand.  But  there  was 
admiration  in  it,  as  well  as  something  else.  Veronica  herself 
was  animated,  and  had  never  looked  so  well  before,  in  the 
recollection  of  the  other  three. 

After  dinner  Gregorio  disappeared  almost  immediately,  and 
at  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Matilde  left  the  room,  merely 
observing  that  she  was  going  to  wrrite  letters  and  would  come 
back  when  she  had  finished.  Bosio  and  Veronica  were 
alone. 

To  her,  it  seemed  to  have  come  suddenly  at  the  end,  and  she 
did  not  quite  realize  how  it  was  that  she  found  herself  standing 
on  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  while  he  stood  on  the  other. 

They  looked  at  each  other  a  moment.  Then  Veronica  smiled 
faintly,  and  drew  herself  up — or  lengthened  herself — as  slight 
young  girls  have  a  way  of  doing  when  they  are  pleased,  and  she 
turned  a  little  in  the  movement,  and  glanced  at  the  clock,  still 
faintly  smiling. 

Bosio  was  watching  her,  and  he  could  not  help  admiring  her 
lithe  figure  and  small,  well-poised  head,  that  had  a  sort  of  girlish 
royalty  of  carriage  not  at  all  connected  with  beauty;  for  she  was 
not  beautiful,  and  she  herself  knew  that  there  were  times  when 
she  was  almost  ugly.  He  saw  and  admired,  and  he  cursed 
himself  for  what  he  meant  to  do.  He  was  not  sure,  even  now, 
that  he  could  do  it. 

There  was  no  awkwardness  in  the  silence,  Veronica  thought, 
for  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  understood,  and  that  words  were 
hardly  necessary.  If  she  had  meant  to  refuse  him,  she  would 
have  done  so  through  Matilde.  She  smiled,  looking  at  the 
clock  and  thinking  about  it  all.  Then  she  realized  that  no 
word  had  been  spoken  on  either  side,  and  she  turned  her  head 
a  little  shyly,  till  she  could  just  see  his  face,  while  the  smile  still 
lingered  on  her  lips.  One  hand  rested  on  the  mantelpiece,  with 
the  other  she  touched  the  artificial  gardenia  in  her  bodice. 

"  That  is  my  answer,  you  know,"  she  said,  quietly,  and  her 
eyes  waited  for  his. 

But  he  only  glanced  at  her  face,  and  for  a  moment  he  did  not 
move.  Then,  with  a  graceful  inclination  he  took  her  hand  and 
raised  it  to  his  lips.  She  noticed  even  then  that  his  own  hand 
was  dry  and  burning.  He  did  not  trust  himself  to  speak.  When 
he  looked  up,  the  room  whirled  with  him,  and  he  saw  strange 
colours.  He  thought  his  teeth  were  chattering. 


n6  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Are  you  glad  ?  "  she  asked,  wondering  a  little  at  his  silence 
now,  and  the  room  seemed  strangely  still  all  at  once. 

"  Is  it  quite  of  your  own  free  will  ?  "  he  asked,  as  though  it 
cost  him  an  effort  to  say  anything. 

"  Yes — quite.  Of  course  ! "  Her  face  grew  bright  as  though 
she  were  happy  in  removing  the  one  doubt  he  had. 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  that,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  would  marry  any  one  under  pressure?" 
asked  Veronica,  with  a  soft  laugh.  "  I  will  tell  you  something 
that  will  convince  you.  It  is  a  secret.  You  must  not  tell  my 
aunt  that  I  know.  I  could  have  married  Don  Gianluca  della 
Spina.  Perhaps  you  know  that.  Did  you  ?  I  did ;  but  I  will 
not  tell  you  how.  Only,  you  see — I  did  not  care  for  him." 

Bosio  had  recovered  his  self-possession,  which  had  been  only 
momentarily  shaken.  For  there  had  been  no  surprise — he  had 
known  what  to  expect. 

"  I  only  knew  lately  of  the  Spina's  proposal,"  he  said.  "  But — 
shall  I  thank  you,  Veronica  ?  Or  do  you  understand  without 
words  ?  We  have  known  each  other  so  long,  that  perhaps  you 
may." 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  she  answered. 

She  put  out  her  hand  again  and  pressed  his,  and  again  he 
kissed  her  fingers.  The  action  was  reverential,  and  had  nothing 
in  it  of  the  man  who  loves  and  is  accepted.  Her  gentle  hand, 
maidenly  and  innocent,  was  stretched  down  into  the  hell  of  word 
and  thought  and  deed  in  which  his  real  self  had  its  being,  and 
he  touched  it  with  his  lips,  and  in  his  heart  he  knelt  to  kiss  it, 
as  something  too  holy  to  be  in  this  world — just  because  it  was 
innocent,  and  his  own  was  not.  For  herself  he  set  her  on  no 
pedestal,  he  did  not  worship  her,  he  did  not  love  her,  he  admired 
her  with  the  cold  judgment  of  a  man  of  taste.  It  is  the  purity 
of  the  unblemished  and  unspotted  victim  that  makes  the  out 
ward  holiness  of  the  sacrifice.  He  thought  of  his  own  life  and 
of  hers,  hitherto  side  by  side,  and  he  thought  of  their  joint  life 
in  the  future,  she  taking  him  for  what  he  was  not,  and  he  was 
ashamed. 

In  the  first  moment  he  had  a  brave  impulse  to  tell  her 
everything  and  be  a  man,  even  if  he  ruined  the  woman  he  had 
loved  so  long,  as  well  as  the  brother  who  bore  his  name.  It 
was  only  an  impulse,  and  his  lips  remained  sealed  and  his 
face  calm. 

"  J  do  thank  you,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  when  he  had  kissed 


X  TAQUISARA  117 

her  hand  that  second  time.     "  I  will  do  what  I  can  to  make 
you  happy." 

Yet  he  knew  now,  from  the  strength  of  that  passing  impulse, 
that  if  she  had  not  spoken  first,  he  would  not  have  asked  her 
directly  to  marry  him.  Twenty  times  during  that  long  day,  alone 
in  his  room,  he  had  sworn  that  he  would  not  marry  her,  what 
ever  happened.  For  it  was  not  enough  that  Matilde  had  set 
him  free,  and  that  he  had  rejoiced  for  one  hour  in  his  liberty. 
That  was  not  enough.  Matilde  could  not  undo  the  work  of 
many  years  by  a  word  and  a  gesture.  His  hell  was  already  a 
desert  without  her.  But  now,  there  was  no  drawing  back. 

Forty-eight  hours  ago,  in  that  very  room,  almost  at  that  hour, 
he  had  told  Matilde  that  he  would  never  marry  Veronica  Serra. 
And  now,  almost  on  the  same  spot,  and  facing  the  same  way, 
he  was  telling  Veronica  Serra  that  he  would  do  his  best  to  make 
her  happy. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will,"  she  answered. 

"  I  should  deserve  evil  things  if  I  did  not,"  he  said,  passing 
his  hand  over  his  eyes,  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  the  innocence 
that  faced  him. 

Suddenly  it  came  over  him  that  she  must  expect  him  to  say 
more,  to  be  passionate,  to  say  that  he  loved  her  beyond  all 
mortal  things,  and  set  her  far  above  immortality  itself,  and 
such  unproportioned  phrases  of  the  love-sick  when  the  instant 
healing  of  response  touches  the  fainting  heart.  All  that,  she 
must  expect.  Why  not  ?  Other  women  expected  it,  and  heard 
all  they  desired,  well  or  ill  spoken,  according  to  the  man's 
eloquence,  but  always  well  according  to  their  own  hearts. 
Surely  he  must  say  something  also.  He  must  tell  her  how  he 
had  dreamed  of  this  instant,  how  her  white  shade  had  visited 
and  soothed  his  dismal  hours — and  the  rest.  As  he  thought 
what  he  should  say,  love's  phrase-book  turned  to  a  grim  and 
fearful  blasphemy  in  his  own  inner  ears.  But  she  expected  it, 
of  course,  and  he  must  speak,  when  he  would  have  given  the 
life  he  had  to  save  her  from  himself  and  to  save  himself  from 
the  last  fall,  below  which  there  could  be  no  falling.  It  was 
almost  impossible.  If  he  had  not  loved  Matilde  Macomer 
still,  he  would  have  turned  even  then  and  spoken  the  truth, 
come  what  might.  But  that  remained.  He  gathered  the 
weakness  of  his  sin  into  an  unreal  and  evil  strength,  as  best 
he  could,  and  for  Matilde's  sake  he  spoke  such  words  as  he 
could  find — lies  against  himself,  against  the  poor  rag  of  honour 


n8  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

in  which  he  still  believed,  even  while  he  was  tearing  it  from  the 
nakedness  of  a  sin  it  could  not  clothe — lies  against  love,  against 
manhood,  against  God. 

"  I  have  loved  you  long,  Veronica,"  he  began.  "  I  had  not 
hoped  to  see  this  day." 

The  awful  struggle  of  his  own  soul  against  its  last  destruction 
sent  a  strong  vibration  through  his  softened  voice,  and  lent  the 
base  lie  he  spoke  such  deadly  beauty  as  might  dwell  in  the  face 
of  Antichrist,  to  deceive  all  living  things  to  sin. 

He  was  still  standing,  and  his  hand  lay  out  towards  Veronica, 
on  the  shelf  before  the  clock.  Slowly  she  turned  towards  him, 
at  the  first  sound  of  his  words,  wondering  and  thrilled. 

"  Is  it  long  ?  I  do  not  know,"  he  continued.  "  It  is  more 
than  a  year  since  I  first  knew  what  this  love  meant.  For  I 
have  loved  little  in  my  life — little,  and  I  am  glad,  though  I  have 
been  sorry  for  it  often,  for  all  I  ever  had,  or  have,  or  am  to 
have  till  I  die,  is  for  you,  Veronica,  all  of  it — the  love  of  heart 
and  hand  and  soul,  to  live  for  you  and  die  for  you,  in  trust  and 
faith,  and  love  of  you.  You  wonder  ?  Beloved — if  you  knew 
yourself,  you  would  not  wonder  that  I  love  you  so  !  There  is 
no  man  who  could  save  himself,  if  he  lived  by  your  side,  as 
I  have  lived.  You  smile  at  that?  Well — you  are  too  young 
to  know  yourself,  but  I  am  not — I  know — I  know — I  thought 
I  knew  too  well,  and  must  pay  dear  for  knowing  how  one  might 
love  you  and  live.  But  it  is  not  too  well,  now.  It  is  life,  not 
death.  It  is  hope,  not  despair — it  is  all  that  life  and  joy  can 
mean,  in  the  highest." 

He  paused,  his  eyes  in  hers,  his  hand  still  stretched  out  and 
lying  on  the  shelf.  Gently  hers  sought  it  and  lay  in  it,  and 
there  was  light  in  her  face,  for  she  believed.  And  he,  in  his 
suffering  within,  was  moved ;  as  a  man  is,  who,  being  in  his  life 
but  a  poor  knave,  plays  bright  truth  and  splendid  passion  on  a 
stage,  and  the  contrast  that  is  between  being  and  seeming,  in 
his  heart,  makes  him  play  greatness  with  a  strong  will,  born 
of  certain  despair. 

"I  am  glad,"  said  Veronica,  softly,  and  she  looked  down, 
while  her  hand  still  lingered  in  his,  and  he  went  on. 

"  It  is  not  easy  for  a  man  like  me  to  believe  that  he  has  all 
the  world  in  his  grasp — in  the  hold  of  his  heart,  to  be  his  as 
long  as  he  lives.  But  you  are  making  me  believe  it  now — all 
that  I  did  not  dare  to  think  of  as  even  most  dimly  possible  in 
my  lonely  life — that  is  why  I  thank  you,  that  is  why  I  bless 


x  TAQUISARA  119 

you,  and  adore  you,  and  love  you  as  I  do,  as  I  can  never  make 
you  guess,  Veronica,  as  I  scarcely  hope  you  dream  that  a  man 
may  love  a  woman.  That  is  why  I  would  die  for  you, 
Veronica,  if  God  willed  that  I  might ! " 

The  great  words  lacked  no  outward  sign  of  living  truth.  His 
hand  burned  hers,  and  closed  upon  it,  pressure  for  word,  to  the 
end,  in  the  terrible  play  of  acted  earnestness.  Even  his  eyes 
brightened  and  filled  themselves,  determined  to  lie  with  all 
of  him  that  lied  to  her. 

Had  he  hated  her,  had  it  been  a  vengeance  to  make  her  love 
him  in  payment  of  a  past  debt  of  wrong,  it  would  have  seemed 
less  foully  base  in  his  own  eyes.  But  he  liked  her.  She  had 
always  trusted  him  and  liked  him  too,  and  there  had  been  only 
kindness  between  them  always.  That  made  it  worse,  and  he 
knew  it.  But  he  could  do  the  worst  now,  he  thought,  for  he 
had  altogether  given  over  his  soul,  to  leave  it  in  hell,  without 
hope. 

"I  pray  God  that  I  may  be  worthy  of  your  love,"  said 
Veronica,  gently  and  earnestly. 

He  drew  her  towards  him  by  her  little  hand,  and  himself 
came  softly  nearer  to  her,  till  his  other  hand  was  on  her 
shoulder,  drawing  her  still.  She  yielded,  not  knowing  what 
she  should  do.  Quite  close  she  was,  and  he  held  her,  unresist 
ing,  and  kissed  her.  She  had  known,  but  she  had  not  realized. 
The  scarlet  blood  leapt  up  in  maiden  shame,  and  she  started 
back  a  little.  But  she  thought  that  he  had  the  right  to  do  it. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said,  with  downcast  eyes,  for  she  felt  that 
she  could  not  stay  to  look  at  him. 

"  Good-night,  love,"  he  whispered. 

He  let  her  go,  and  she  slipped  from  him,  leaving  him  still 
standing  in  his  place.  The  door  closed  behind  her,  and  he  was 
alone,  very  quiet  and  pale,  thinking  of  what  he  had  done,  and 
not  rejoicing,  for  he  knew  the  depth  of  its  meaning. 

He  was  glad  it  was  over,  for  if  it  had  been  to  do  again,  he 
could  not  have  done  it.  His  lips  were  parched,  his  throat  was 
dry,  his  hands  were  burning ;  he  felt  as  though  his  head  were 
shaking  on  his  shoulders,  palsied  by  a  blow.  But  such  as  the 
deed  was,  it  had  been  well  done  to  the  end.  The  devil,  if  he 
cared  for  his  own,  would  be  pleased.  He  had  even  kissed  her. 
He  knew  what  Judas  had  been,  now,  and  what  he  had  felt. 

He  did  not  know  how  long  he  stood  there.  It  might  have 
been  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  more ;  but  though  he  watched 


120  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

the  clock's  face,  his  eyes  saw  no  movement  of  the  hands  upon 
the  dial.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  room  was  dark. 

Then  the  door  opened  again,  and  he  started  and  looked 
round,  fearing  lest  Veronica  might  have  come  back — or  her 
ghost,  for  he  felt  as  though  he  had  killed  her  with  his  hands. 
But  it  was  Matilde  Macomer.  She  glanced  round  the  room 
and  saw  that  Veronica  was  gone. 

"  Well  ? "  she  asked,  coming  swiftly  forward  to  where  Bosio 
was  standing,  pale  as  death  under  her  rouge. 

He  faced  her  stupidly,  with  heavy  eyes,  like  a  man  drunk. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  he  said,  slowly. 

She  started  forward,  not  understanding  him. 

"  Over  ?     Broken  off?  "  she  cried,  in  horror. 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  he  answered,  with  a  choking  laugh,  bad  to  hear. 
"  It  is  done.  It  is  agreed.  She  accepts  me." 

Matilde  drew  breath,  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  left  side 
for  one  moment — she,  who  was  so  strong. 

"  You  almost  killed  me  ! "  she  said,  so  low  that  Bosio  hardly 
caught  the  words. 

Slowly  she  straightened  herself,  and  the  colour  came  back  to 
her  face,  blending  with  the  tinge  of  the  paint.  He  did  not 
move,  and  she  came  and  stood  near  him,  leaning  her  elbows 
upon  the  mantelpiece  and  turning  to  him. 

"  You  have  saved  me,"  she  said.     "  I  thank  you." 

Bad  natures  can  be  simple,  if  they  are  great  enough,  and 
Matilde  spoke  simply  as  she  looked  at  him.  She  had  been 
almost  terrible  to  look  at  a  few  moments  earlier,  with  the  rouge 
visible  on  her  ghastly  cheeks.  No  one  could  have  detected 
it  now,  and  she  was  still  splendid  to  see,  as  she  stood  beside 
him,  just  bending  her  face  upon  her  clasped  hands  while  her 
deep  eyes  melted  in  his. 

He  knew  the  difference  between  her  and  Veronica,  and  he 
straightened  himself,  till  he  looked  rigid,  and  an  unnatural 
smile  just  wreathed  his  lips,  half  hidden  in  his  silky  beard. 
He  told  himself  that  he  had  fallen  the  last  fall,  to  the  very 
depths ;  yet  he  knew  that  there  was  a  depth  below  them,  and 
he  tried  to  turn  his  face  from  her,  seeking  refuge  in  the  thought 
of  what  he  had  done,  from  the  evil  he  still  might  do. 

"I  have  been  thinking  over  all  I  said  to  you  yesterday 
afternoon,"  she  said,  gently.  "  I  meant  it,  you  know — I  meant 
it  all." 

"  I  trust  to  heaven  you  did ! "  answered  Bosio. 


X  TAQUISARA  121 

"Yes,  dear,  I  meant  it,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  of  gold  and 
velvet.  "  I  will  try  to  mean  it  still.  But — Bosio — look  at  me  ! " 

He  turned  his  eyes,  but  not  his  face. 

"  Yes  ?  "     His  voice  was  not  above  his  breath. 

'  <  Yes — but  can  you  ?  Can  I  ?  Can  we  live  without  each  other  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  must."     He  spoke  louder,  with  an  effort. 

She  drew  nearer  to  him,  strong  and  soft. 

"  Yes  ?  Well — but  say  good-bye — not  as  yesterday — not  as 
though  it  were  good-bye — one  kiss,  Bosio,  only  one  kiss — 
one,  dear — one — " 

And  in  it,  her  voice  was  silent,  for  it  had  done  its  tempting, 
and  she  had  her  will,  on  the  selfsame  spot  where  he  had 
kissed  Veronica.  Then  he  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and 
his  heart  stood  still.  An  instant  later  he  was  gone,  and  she 
had  not  tried  to  keep  him.  She  watched  him  as  he  left  her 
and  went  to  the  door  without  turning. 

He  walked  quickly  when  he  had  shut  the  door  behind  him, 
and  his  face  was  livid.  The  depth  below  the  depths  had 
been  too  deep.  He  had  but  one  thought  as  he  went  through 
the  rooms,  and  the  antechamber,  and  hall,  and  out  upon  the 
cold  staircase,  and  up  to  his  own  door,  and  on,  and  in,  till  he 
turned  the  key  of  his  own  room  behind  him.  There  was  no 
stopping  then,  either,  between  the  door  and  the  table,  between 
key  and  lock,  and  hand  and  weapon. 

Before  the  woman's  kiss  had  been  upon  his  lips  two  minutes, 
Bosio  Macomer  lay  dead,  alone,  under  the  green-shaded  lamp 
in  his  own  remote  room. 

Peace  upon  him,  if  there  be  peace  for  such  men,  in  the 
mercy  of  Almighty  God.  He  did  evil  all  his  life,  but  there 
was  an  evil  which  even  he  would  not  do  upon  the  innocent 
life  of  another.  He  died  lest  he  should  do  it,  and  desperately 
grasping  at  the  universal  strength  of  death,  he  cast  himself  and 
his  weakness  into  the  impregnable  stronghold  of  the  grave. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IT  was  still  early  in  the  morning,  and  all  Naples  knew  that 
Count  Bosio  Macomer  had  committed  suicide  on  the  preceding 
evening.  Every  morning  newspaper  had  a  paragraph  about  the 


122  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

shocking  tragedy,  but  few  ventured  to  guess  at  any  reason  for 
the  deed.  It  was  merely  stated  that  Count  Bosio's  servant 
had  been  alarmed  by  the  report  of  a  pistol  about  nine  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  and  on  finding  the  door  of  his  master's  room 
locked  had  broken  in,  suspecting  some  terrible  accident.  He 
had  found  the  count  stretched  upon  the  floor,  in  evening  dress, 
with  his  own  revolver  lying  beside  him. 

That  was  precisely  what  had  happened,  but  the  meagre 
account  gave  no  idea  of  the  confusion  which  had  ensued  upon 
the  discovery.  It  contained  no  mention  of  Matilde  nor  of 
Veronica,  and  merely  observed  that  the  brother  of  the  deceased 
was  overcome  with  grief. 

That  would  have  been  too  weak  an  expression  to  apply  to 
what  Matilde  suffered  during  the  hours  which  followed  the  first 
appalling  blow.  In  the  overpowering  horror  of  the  situation, 
she  did  not  lose  her  mind,  but  she  sincerely  believed  that 
her  body  could  not  live  till  the  morning. 

To  do  her  justice,  as  she  sat  there  beside  the  dead  man, 
bent  and  doubled  in  silent,  tearless  grief,  a  dark  shawl  drawn 
over  her  head  to  hide  her  face,  and  utterly  regardless,  for  once, 
of  what  any  one  might  think,  she  thought  only  of  him  and 
of  what  she  had  done.  For  she  understood,  and  she  only, 
in  all  the  household. 

Beyond  her  conscious  thoughts,  if  they  could  be  called 
thoughts  at  all,  the  black  figures  of  the  forbidding  future 
loomed  darkly  in  her  consciousness.  They  were  the  things  she 
knew,  rather  than  the  things  she  felt,  but  the  terror  of  what 
was  to  be  was  as  real  as  the  grief  for  what  had  been,  though  as 
yet  it  had  less  strength  to  move  her.  The  blow  had  struck  her 
down,  and  until  she  should  try  to  rise  she  could  feel  nothing 
but  the  blow.  In  truth  she  did  not  think  that  she  should  live 
until  the  morning. 

It  was  midnight  when  they  lit  candles,  and  set  them  beside 
him  in  great  candlesticks  as  he  lay.  And  she  sat  down  at 
his  feet  and  watched  his  still  face,  from  beneath  the  shawl  that 
hung  over  her  head.  It  had  been  in  her  hands  when  they  had 
told  her,  and  her  fingers  had  closed  upon  it  stiffly ;  so  she  had 
it  when  she  came  to  his  room.  She  was  glad,  for  she  could 
cover  herself  from  the  eyes  of  those  who  came  and  went, 
but  her  own  eyes  could  see  out,  from  under  it,  and  no  tears 
blinded  her.  After  she  had  sat  down,  she  did  not  move. 

Gregorio  Macomer  had  come,  and  had  gone  away,  and  then 


XI  TAQUISARA  123 

he  had  come  again,  when  all  was  done,  and  had  knelt  a  long 
time  beside  the  couch  on  which  his  brother  lay,  repeating 
prayers  audibly.  His  face  was  as  grey  as  a  stone.  He  only 
spoke  to  give  directions  in  a  whisper,  and  he  said  nothing  to 
his  wife,  but  let  her  alone,  bowed  and  covered  as  she  sat. 
When  he  had  prayed,  he  went  away,  with  reverently  bent  head, 
and  she  heard  that  he  trod  softly.  -  In  two  hours  he  came  back, 
knelt  again,  and  again  repeated  Latin  words.  She  knew  that 
he  was  doing  it  for  a  show  of  sorrow,  and  she  wished  to  kill  him. 
Then,  when  he  was  softly  gone  again,  she  wondered  how  soon 
she  herself  was  to  die.  There  were  two  servants  in  the  room, 
behind  her,  keeping  watch.  They  were  relieved  by  two  others, 
changing  through  the  night.  She  heard  them  come  and  go, 
but  did  not  turn  her  head. 

When  the  dawn  forelightened,  like  the  ghost  of  a  buried  day 
risen  from  the  grave  to  see  its  past  deeds,  she  was  not  yet  dead. 
She  had  once  read  how  the  murderers  of  Vittoria  Accoramboni 
had  been  torn  with  red-hot  pincers  and  otherwise  grievously 
tortured,  and  how  knives  had  been  thrust  deep  into  their  breasts 
just  where  the  heart  was  not,  but  near  it,  and  how  they  had 
died  hard,  for  they  had  lived  more  than  half  an  hour  with  the 
knives  in  them,  and  at  the  last  had  been  quartered  alive.  She 
had  not  believed  what  she  had  read,  but  now  she  knew  that  it 
was  true.  She  envied  them  the  searing,  the  tearing,  and  the 
knives  which  had  at  last  killed  them,  though  they  had  died  so 
hard. 

The  wan  dawn  turned  the  dead  man's  face  from  waxen 
yellow  to  stone  grey.  The  servants  saw  it,  whispered,  and 
closed  the  inner  shutters,  and  the  yellow  candle-light  shone 
again  in  the  room.  Any  light  is  better  than  daylight  on  a  dead 
face. 

Matilde  sat  still,  bowed  and  covered.  Fixed  in  the  world  of 
grief,  the  hours  of  sorrow  passed  her  by.  There  was  neither 
night  nor  day  in  the  dead  watch  of  the  closed  room,  under  the 
tall  candles,  burning  steadily. 

Then,  at  last,  other  feet  were  on  the  threshold,  stumbling, 
shuffling,  ill-shod  feet  of  men  bearing  a  burden.  In  that  city, 
one  may  not  lie  in  his  home  more  than  one  day  after  he  is 
dead.  They  set  down  what  they  bore,  beside  the  couch,  and 
waited,  and  the  woman  saw  their  questioning  faces  and  heard 
them  whispering.  Then  one  of  them,  with  some  reverence 
and  gentleness,  thrust  his  arm  under  the  low  pillow,  and  with  his 


124  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

eyes  bade  another  lift  the  feet.  But  Matilde  rose  then  and 
came  between  them  and  the  dead.  They  thought  that  she 
would  look  at  him  once  more,  and  they  drew  back,  while  she 
looked,  for  she  bent  over  his  face.  But  the  shawl  about  her 
head  fell  about  her,  and  they  could  not  see  that  she  kissed 
him.  They  waited. 

The  great  woman  put  her  hands  about  him,  and  bowed  her 
self,  and  lifted  him  from  the  couch,  and  the  men  could  not 
believe  it  when  they  saw  her  turn  with  him  and  lay  him  down 
in  his  coffin,  alone,  with  no  one  to  help  her. 

For  she  was  very  strong.  She  stood  and  looked  down  at 
him  a  long  time,  and  once  she  stopped  and  moved  one  of  his 
crossed  hands,  which  touched  the  edge.  And  then  she  drew 
from  her  neck,  from  beneath  the  shawl,  a  piece  of  fine  black 
lace,  and  laid  it  gently  over  and  about  his  head. 

"  Cover  it,"  she  said  to  the  men,  and  she  stood  waiting,  lest 
they  should  touch  him  with  their  hands. 

She  had  seen  his  face  for  the  last  time,  and  when  they 
had  covered  him,  they  laid  the  coffin  in  another  of  lead  which 
they  had  brought,  and  she  stood  quite  still,  watching  the 
gleaming  melted  stuff  that  ran  along  the  edges  of  the  grey 
lead,  like  quicksilver,  under  the  hot  tool  of  copper.  When 
that  was  done,  with  main  strength  they  laid  him  in  the  third, 
which  was  covered  with  black  velvet.  And  there  were  screws. 

At  last  they  went  away,  and  Matilde  set  the  tall  candle 
sticks  on  each  side  of  the  velvet  thing,  and  looked  at  it  again. 
Then  she,  too,  with  still  covered  head,  went  towards  the  door. 
But  between  the  coffin  and  the  door,  she  stood  still,  swaying 
a  little,  till  she  fell  to  her  full  length  backwards  and  straight, 
as  a  cypress  tree  falls  when  it  is  cut  down.  But  she  was  not 
dead,  for  she  was  too  strong  to  die  then.  The  servants  carried 
her  away  to  her  own  room,  calling  others  to  help  them,  for 
she  was  heavy,  and  they  had  to  take  her  down  the  stairs.  It 
was  afternoon  then,  and  when  she  came  to  herself  and  opened 
her  eyes,  she  bitterly  cursed  the  day,  for  it  would  have  been 
good  to  die.  But  she  never  went  again  to  the  room  where 
she  had  watched. 

She  lay  still  a  long  time,  alone  in  silence.  Then,  from  a 
room  beyond  hers,  came  the  wild  crash  of  her  husband's 
laughter.  She  sat  up.  Her  face  was  grim  and  terrible,  ghastly 
and  stained  with  rouge,  as  the  shawl  fell  back  upon  her 
shoulders.  She  sat  up  and  listened,  and  her  smooth  lips 


XI  TAQUISARA  125 

twisted  themselves  angrily,  one  against  the  other,  as  a  tiger's 
sometimes  do,  when  there  is  blood  in  the  air.  She  knew  now 
that  she  was  really  alive,  for  she  thought  of  Veronica. 

Veronica  had  not  known  in  the  night.  Her  rooms  were 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  apartment  in  a  quiet  part  of  the 
house,  and  when  she  had  left  Bosio  she  had  gone  to  bed 
immediately  and  had  dismissed  her  maid.  Elettra  came  from 
the  room  to  find  the  household  in  the  hideous  uproar  and 
confusion  which  first  followed  the  discovery  of  Bosio's  death. 
Elettra  was  a  wise  woman  as  well  as  a  revengeful  one.  By  the 
deeds  of  the  Macomer,  as  she  looked  at  it,  her  own  husband 
had  been  killed,  and  she  had  cursed  their  house,  living  and 
dead.  She  had  blood  now,  for  her  blood,  and  in  the  dark 
corridor  she  smiled  once.  But  no  one  should  disturb  Vero 
nica,  and  she  stood  there,  where  any  one  must  pass  to  go  to 
the  girl's  room,  silent,  satisfied,  watchful.  She  loved  her  mis 
tress,  as  she  hated  all  the  Macomer,  body  and  soul,  alive  and 
dead.  Some  foolish  women  of  the  household  would  have 
roused  Veronica,  for  they  came,  two  together,  asking  in  loud 
hysterical  voices,  whether  she  knew.  But  Elettra  kept  them 
off,  and  took  the  news  herself  in  the  morning  when  Veronica 
rang  for  her. 

"  A  terrible  thing  has  happened  in  the  night,"  she  said,  when 
she  had  opened  the  windows. 

Veronica  opened  her  eyes  wide  and  then  rubbed  them  slowly 
with  her  slim,  dark  fingers  and  looked  again  at  Elettra. 

"  It  is  a  very  terrible  thing,"  continued  the  woman,  gravely. 
"  It  happened  in  the  night,  and  all  was  confusion,  but  I  would 
not  let  them  disturb  you.  They  heard  the  pistol-shot  and 
broke  down  the  door.  He  was  already  dead.  He  had  shot 
himself." 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Veronica,  in  instant  horror.  "  Some  one  in 
the  house  ?  A  servant  ?  " 

Elettra  shook  her  head. 

"  No.  I  would  not  tell  you — but  you  must  know.  It  was 
Count  Bosio." 

Veronica  turned  pale  and  started  up.  "Bosio?  Bosio 
dead  ? "  she  cried,  in  a  voice  that  was  almost  a  scream. 

The  woman  was  sensible  and  understood  her,  and  by  that 
time  the  household  was  quiet,  so  that  there  was  no  fear  lest 
any  one  else  should  come  to  Veronica's  room. 

But  when  she  was  quite  sure  of  what  had  happened,  Vero- 


126  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

nica  wept  bitterly  for  a  long  time,  burying  her  face  in  her 
pillows  and  refusing  to  listen  any  more  to  Elettra.  Then,  if 
the  woman  had  not  prevented  her,  almost  forcibly,  she  would 
have  gone  upstairs  to  see  him  where  he  lay  dead.  But  Elettra 
would  not  let  her  go,  for  she  knew  that  Matilde  was  there, 
and  why ;  and  moreover,  it  was  not  within  her  ideas  of  custom 
that  a  young  girl  should  go  and  look  at  any  one  dead.  But 
Veronica's  tears  flowed  on. 

At  first  it  was  only  sorrow,  real  and  heartfelt,  without  any 
attempt  to  reason  and  explain.  But  by  and  by  she  began  to 
ask  herself  questions  for  the  dead  man's  sake.  In  her  dreams 
the  sweet  words  he  had  spoken  in  the  evening  had  come  back 
to  her,  and  when  she  had  first  opened  her  eyes  at  the  sound  of 
Elettra's  voice  she  had  thought  that  she  saw  his  eyes  before 
her  in  the  dimness,  before  the  windows  were  all  opened.  She 
had  not  loved  him  yet,  but  those  words  of  his  had  touched 
something  which  would  have  felt,  by  and  by.  And  suddenly, 
he  was  gone.  Why?  It  was  so  sudden.  It  was  as  though 
a  part  of  the  earth  had  fallen  through,  into  space  beneath, 
without  warning.  There  was  too  much  gone,  all  at  once. 
She  could  only  ask  why.  And  there  was  no  answer  to  that. 

Her  eyes  fell  upon  the  artificial  gardenia  she  had  worn.  It 
lay  upon  the  dressing-table  where  she  had  tossed  it  wrhen  she 
had  taken  it  from  her  bodice.  Her  tears  broke  out  again,  for 
it  had  meant  so  much  last  night,  and  could  mean  now  but  the 
memory  of  that  much,  and  never  again  anything  more.  It  was 
a  long  time  before  Veronica  dried  her  eyes,  and  consented  to 
dress. 

Apart  from  the  sorrowful  horror  that  filled  her,  it  seemed  so 
very  strange  that  he  should  have  killed  himself  just  after  she 
had  promised  to  marry  him,  within  an  hour  after  they  had 
spoken  together  of  the  happiness  to  come. 

"  It  was  an  accident,"  she  said  at  last,  speaking  to  herself,  as 
though  she  had  reached  a  conclusion.  "  He  did  not  mean  to 
do  it." 

Elettra  shook  her  head,  but  said  nothing.  Accident  or  no 
accident,  it  was  the  blood  of  a  Macomer  for  the  blood  of  her 
own  dead  husband,  murdered  up  there  in  Muro  by  the  peasants 
because  Macomer  had  burdened  them  beyond  their  power 
to  pay. 

She  said  nothing,  and  Veronica  expected  no  answer,  but 
sat  still,  trying  to  think,  while  Elettra  noiselessly  set  the  big 


XI  TAQUISARA  127 

dressing-room  in  order.  The  woman  had  given  her  a  black 
frock  without  consulting  her. 

Though  Veronica  liked  her,  and  knew  that  she  could  rely  on 
her  devotion,  she  was  not  one  of  those  Italian  girls  who  readily 
confide  in  their  serving-women,  and  she  had  told  Elettra  noth 
ing  about  the  projected  marriage,  and  she  said  nothing  of  it 
now,  though  she  was  mourning  her  betrothed  husband.  But 
she  told  Elettra  to  go  out  and  buy  a  little  crape  to  put  on  the 
black  frock,  and  to  send  for  dressmakers  to  make  mourning 
things  quickly. 

The  confusion  in  the  house  had  subsided  into  stillness. 
Bosio  Macomer  was  in  his  coffin.  The  servants  were  ex 
hausted,  and  there  was  no  one  to  direct.  Gregorio  had  been 
heard  laughing  wildly  in  his  room,  and  a  frightened  chamber 
maid  said  that  he  was  going  mad.  Elettra  had  great  difficulty 
in  getting  something  to  eat,  which  she  brought  to  Veronica's 
room  with  a  glass  of  wine. 

The  girl's  first  outbreak  of  sorrow  ebbed  to  a  melancholy 
placidity,  as  the  hours  went  by.  She  got  her  prayer-book,  and 
read  certain  prayers  for  the  dead.  When  her  maid  had  gone 
out  to  buy  the  crape,  she  knelt  down  and  said  prayers  that  were 
not  in  the  book,  very  earnestly  and  simply ;  and  now  and  then 
her  tears  flowed  afresh  for  a  little  while.  She  took  the  artificial 
gardenia  and  put  it  away  in  a  safe  place,  after  she  had  kissed 
it;  and  she  wondered  when  she  remembered  how  she  had 
blushed  last  night  when  Bosio  kissed  her  that  once — that  only 
once  that  ever  was  to  be.  And  she  took  his  photograph  and 
looked  at  it,  too.  But  she  could  not  bear  that  yet — at  least, 
not  to  look  at  it  too  closely. 

Vaguely  she  tried  to  think  what  the  others  might  be  doing  in 
the  house,  and  why  no  one  came  to  her  but  her  maid.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  she  was  always  to  be  alone,  now,  for  days, 
for  weeks,  for  years.  As  she  grew  more  calm,  she  attempted 
to  imagine  what  life  would  be  without  the  companionship 
of  Bosio.  That  was  what  she  should  miss,  for  she  was  but 
little  nearer  to  love  than  that.  It  all  looked  so  blank  and 
gloomy  that  she  cried  again,  out  of  sheer  desolation  and 
loneliness.  But  of  this  she  was  somewhat  ashamed,  and  she 
presently  dried  her  eyes  again. 

She  did  not  like  to  leave  her  room  either.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  death  was  outside,  walking  up  and  down  throughout  the 
rest  of  the  house,  until  poor  Bosio  should  be  taken  away.  And 


128  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

again  she  wondered  about  Matilde  and  Gregorio,  and  what  they 
were  doing.  She  tried  to  read,  but  not  the  novel  Bosio  had 
given  her.  She  took  up  another  book,  and  presently  found 
herself  saying  prayers  over  it.  The  day  was  very  long  and 
very  sad. 

Before  Elettra  came  back  from  her  errands,  a  servant 
knocked  at  Veronica's  door.  He  said  that  there  was  a  priest 
who  was  asking  for  her,  and  begged  her  to  receive  him  for  a 
few  moments. 

"  It  cannot  be  for  me,"  answered  Veronica.  "  It  must  be  a 
mistake.  He  wishes  to  see  my  aunt,  or  the  count." 

"  He  asked  for  the  Princess  of  Acireale,"  said  the  man.  "  I 
could  not  be  mistaken,  Excellency." 

"  He  does  not  know  who  I  am,  or  he  would  not  ask  for  me 
by  that  name.  Does  he  look  poor  ?  It  must  be  for  charity." 

"  So,  so,  Excellency.  He  had  an  old  cloak,  but  his  face  is 
that  of  an  honest  man." 

"Give  him  ten  francs,"  said  Veronica,  rising  to  get  her 
pocketbook.  "And  tell  him  that  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot 
receive  him." 

The  servant  took  the  note,  and  disappeared.  In  three 
minutes  he  came  back. 

"  He  does  not  want  money,  Excellency,"  he  said.  "  He 
says  he  is  the  Reverend  Teodoro  Maresca,  curate  of  your 
Excellency's  church  in  Muro,  and  begs  you  earnestly  to  receive 
him." 

Veronica  rose  again.  She  knew  Don  Teodoro  by  name,  for 
Bosio  had  often  spoken  of  him  to  her,  as  his  former  tutor  and 
his  friend.  It  was  for  Bosio's  sake  that  he  had  come — that 
was  clear.  Veronica  asked  where  her  aunt  was,  and  on  hearing 
that  Matilde  had  retired  to  her  own  room,  she  told  the  servant 
to  bring  Don  Teodoro  to  the  yellow  drawing-room. 

A  moment  later  she  followed.  The  tall  priest  was  standing 
with  bent  head  before  the  fireplace,  on  the  very  spot  where  so 
much  had  happened  during  the  last  two  days.  He  held  his 
three-cornered  hat  in  one  hand,  and  was  stretching  out  the 
other  to  warm  it  at  the  low  flame.  Veronica  was  a  little 
startled  by  his  face  and  extraordinary  features,  but  he  looked  at 
her  clearly  and  steadily  through  his  big  silver  spectacles,  and  he 
had  a  venerable  air  which  she  liked.  She  noticed  that  when 
she  advanced  towards  him,  he  bowed  like  a  man  of  the  world, 
and  not  at  all  like  a  country  priest 


XI  TAQUISARA  129 

"  I  thank  you  for  receiving  me,  princess,"  he  said,  gravely. 
"  I  have  heard  the  sad  news.  I  was  Bosio's  friend  for  many 
years.  I  spent  an  hour  with  him  only  the  day  before  yester 
day,  during  which  he  told  me  much  about  himself  and  about 
you.  If,  before  he  died,  he  told  you  nothing  of  what  he  told 
me,  as  I  think  probable,  it  is  necessary  for  you  to  know  it 
all  from  me  as  soon  as  possible.  Forgive  me  for  speaking 
hurriedly  and  abruptly.  The  case  is  urgent,  and  dangerous  for 
you.  Shall  we  be  interrupted  here  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Veronica,  considerably  surprised  by 
his  manner.  "  But  of  course — "  she  paused,  doubtingly. 

"  Have  you  a  room  of  your  own,  where  you  could  receive 
me  ?  "  asked  the  old  man,  without  hesitation. 

"  Yes — that  is — I  should  not  like  to — " 

"  I  am  an  old  priest,  princess,  and  this  is  a  time  of  confusion 
in  the  house.  You  can  risk  something.  It  is  important. 
Besides,  I  am  in  your  own  service,"  he  added,  with  a  quiet 
smile.  "  I  am  the  chaplain  of  your  castle  at  Muro." 

"Yes — that  is  true."  Veronica  looked  at  him  with  a  little 
curiosity,  for  she  had  never  been  to  Muro,  and  it  was  interesting 
to  see  one  of  her  dependents  of  whom  she  had  often  heard. 
"Come,"  she  said,  suddenly.  "We  shall  meet  no  one, 
except  my  maid,  perhaps — Elettra.  Do  you  know  her  ?  Her 
husband  was  under-steward,  and  was  killed." 

"  I  know  of  her — I  buried  him,"  answered  the  priest. 

She  led  the  way  to  her  own  part  of  the  house,  to  the  large 
room  which  served  her  as  dressing-room  and  boudoir.  After 
all,  as  he  had  said,  he  was  a  priest  and  an  old  man.  She  made 
him  sit  down  beside  her  fire,  in  her  own  low  easy-chair,  for  he 
looked  thin  and  cold,  she  thought,  and  she  felt  charitably  dis 
posed  towards  him,  not  dreaming  what  he  was  going  to  say,  and 
supposing  that  he  had  exaggerated  the  importance  of  his  errand. 

"  Princess — "  he  began,  and  paused,  choosing  his  words. 

"  Do  not  call  me  that,"  she  said.  "  Nobody  does.  Call  me 
Donna  Veronica." 

"  I  am  old  fashioned,"  he  answered.  "  You  are  my  princess 
and  feudal  liege  lady.  Never  mind.  It  would  be  better  for 
you  if  you  were  in  your  own  castle  of  Muro,  with  your  own 
people  about  you,  though  it  is  a  gloomy  place,  and  the  scenery 
is  sad.  You  would  be  safe  there." 

"  You  speak  as  though  we  lived  in  the  Middle  Ages,"  said 
the  young  girl,  with  a  faint  smile. 


1 30  T  AQ  U I S  AR  A  CHAP. 

"  We  live  in  the  dark  ages.  You  are  not  safe  here.  Do  you 
know  why  my  dear  friend  Bosio  killed  himself  last  night  ?  " 

"  It  was  an  accident !  It  must  have  been  an  accident ! " 
Veronica's  face  was  very  sorrowful  again. 

"  I  wish  it  had  been,"  said  Don  Teodoro.  "  They  will  say 
so,  in  charity,  in  order  to  give  him  Christian  burial.  But  it  was 
not  an  accident,  princess.  My  friend  told  me  all  the  truth,  the 
day  before  yesterday.  It  is  very  terrible.  He  killed  himself  in 
order  not  to  be  bound  to  marry  you." 

The  round,  silver-rimmed  spectacles  turned  slowly  to  her 
face. 

"  In  order  not  to  marry  me  I  You  must  be  mad,  Don 
Teodoro  !  Or  you  do  not  know  the  truth — that  is  it !  You  do 
not  know  the  truth.  It  was  only  last  night  that  he  asked  me  to 
marry  him — that  is — it  had  been  my  aunt  who  had  asked  me, 
and  I  gave  him  the  answer." 

"  You  consented  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  consented — " 

"  That  is  why  he  killed  himself,"  said  the  priest,  sadly.  "  I 
knew  he  would,  if  it  came  to  that.  It  is  a  terrible  story." 

Veronica  stared  at  him  in  silence,  really  believing  that  he  was 
out  of  his  mind,  and  beginning  to  feel  very  nervous  in  his 
presence.  He  shocked  her  unspeakably,  too,  by  what  he  said 
about  Bosio ;  for  if  the  wound  was  not  deep,  perhaps,  it  was 
fresh,  and  his  words  were  brine  to  it.  He  saw  what  she  felt, 
and  made  haste  to  be  plain. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  am  obliged  to  tell  you  this,"  he  con 
tinued,  after  a  short  pause.  "  I  cannot  help  it.  The  only 
thing  I  can  do  for  my  dead  friend  is  to  save  you,  if  I  can. 
I  saw  the  account  of  his  death  in  a  newspaper  an  hour  ago,  and 
I  came  at  once.  Will  you  please  not  think  that  I  am  mad, 
until  you  have  heard  me  ?  I  was  his  friend,  and  I  have  eaten 
your  bread  these  many  years.  I  must  speak." 

"Tell  me  your  story,"  said  Veronica,  leaning  back  in  her 
chair  and  folding  her  hands. 

He  began  at  the  beginning,  and  told  her  all,  as  Bosio  had 
told  him.  He  omitted  nothing,  for  he  had  the  astonishing 
memory  which  sometimes  belongs  to  students,  besides  the  desire 
to  be  perfectly  accurate,  and  to  exaggerate  nothing.  For  he 
knew  that  she  would  find  it  hard  to  believe  him. 

She  listened ;  and  as  he  went  on,  describing  the  struggle  in 
poor  Bosio's  heart  between  the  desire  to  save  the  woman  he 


XI  TAQUISARA  131 

loved  and  the  horror  of  sacrificing  Veronica  as  a  means  to  that 
end,  she  leaned  forward  again,  drawing  nearer  to  him,  and 
watching  his  face  keenly.  Her  eyes  were  wide,  and  her  lips 
parted  a  little ;  for  whether  true  or  not,  the  story  was  terrible 
as  he  told  it,  and  as  he  had  said  that  it  would  be. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  he  said  to  you  last  night,"  he  con 
cluded.  "  I  give  you  a  dead  man's  words,  as  he  spoke  them 
to  me ;  but  I  have  no  right  to  those  he  spoke  to  you.  This  is 
true,  that  I  have  told  you,  as  I  hope  for  forgiveness  of  my  own 
sins.  If  you  stay  in  this  house,  by  the  truth  of  God,  I  believe 
that  your  life  is  not  safe." 

"  You  believe  it,  I  am  sure,"  said  Veronica.  "  But  I  cannot. 
The  most  I  can  believe  is  that  poor  Bosio  was  already  mad 
when  he  told  you  this.  It  must  be  true.  Even  supposing  that 
my  uncle  were  the  man  you  think,  and  had  ruined  himself  in 
speculations  and  had  taken  money  of  mine  without  my  know 
ledge,  would  it  not  be  far  more  natural  that  he  and  my  aunt 
should  come  to  me  and  confess  everything,  and  beg  me  to  for 
give  and  help  them  for  the  sake  of  their  good  name?  Of 
course  it  would.  You  cannot  deny  that." 

"  It  is  what  I  told  Bosio,"  answered  Don  Teodoro,  shaking 
his  head;  "but  he  answered  that  they  feared  you,  and  that 
your  death  would  be  a  safer  way,  because  you  might  not  be  so 
kind.  You  might  go  to  the  cardinal  and  lay  the  case  before 
him,  and  they  would  be  lost." 

"  I  might.  I  probably  should."  Veronica  paused.  "  That 
is  true,"  she  continued,  "  but  whatever  I  did,  I  could  not  allow 
the  matter  to  come  to  a  prosecution — for  the  sake  of  my  own 
name,  if  not  for  theirs.  But  I  do  not  believe  it — I  do  not 
believe  it — indeed,  I  do  not  believe  it  at  all.  Poor  Bosio  was 
not  in  his  right  mind.  That  is  why  he  killed  himself.  He 
was  mad,  even  when  he  talked  with  you  the  day  before  yester 
day — it  is  the  only  possible  explanation." 

"  Nevertheless,  something  must  be  done,"  said  Don  Teodoro. 
"Your  safety  must  be  thought  of  first,  princess." 

"  I  feel  perfectly  safe  here,"  answered  Veronica.  "  All  this 
is  madness.  The  countess  is  my  father's  sister.  I  admit  that 
I  have  not  always  liked  her,  but  she  has  always  been  kind. 
You  really  cannot  expect  me  to  believe  that  she  and  my  uncle 
would  plot  against  my  life — especially  now,  in  this  terrible 
trouble  and  sorrow!  I  have  listened  to  you,  Don  Teodoro, 
and  I  am  sure  that  you  wish  me  well,  but  I  never  can  believe 


132  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

that  you  are  right.  Really — with  all  respect  to  you — I  must 
say  it.  It  is  wildly  absurd  ! " 

And  the  longer  she  thought  of  it,  the  more  absurd  it  seemed. 
The  girl  was  naturally  both  sensible  and  brave,  and  the  whole 
tale  was  monstrous  in  her  eyes,  though  while  he  had  been 
telling  it  she  had  fallen  under  the  spell  of  its  thrilling  interest, 
forgetting  that  it  was  all  about  herself.  She  looked  at  the  quiet 
old  priest,  with  his  extraordinary  face  and  quiet  manner,  and  it 
was  far  easier  to  believe  that  a  man  with  such  features  might  be 
mad  than  that  her  Aunt  Matilde  meant  to  kill  her.  He  was 
silent  for  a  few  moments. 

"There  is  a  terrible  logic  in  the  absurdity,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  Your  aunt  constrains  you  to  make  a  will  in  her  favour,  Bosio 
knew  that  his  brother  is  ruined,  and  that  several  large  mortgages 
expire  on  the  first  of  January.  He  knew  that  his  brother  has 
defrauded  you  in  a  way  which  is  criminal.  If  they  can  get 
control  of  your  money  within  three  weeks  they  are  saved. 
They  persuaded  Bosio  and  you  to  be  betrothed.  But  Bosio 
kills  himself.  The  main  chance  is  gone.  There  remains  the 
one  with  which  the  countess  threatened  him  if  he  would  not 
marry  you — your  immediate  death.  Against  that,  stands  the 
possibility  of  penal  servitude  in  the  galleys  for  a  man  and  woman 
of  high  rank  and  social  position — only  the  possibility,  to  be 
sure,  but  a  possibility,  nevertheless.  Remember  that,  to  those 
who  know  the  whole  extent  and  criminality  of  the  count's  fraud 
the  case  appears  very  much  worse  than  it  does  to  you,  who 
now  hear  of  it  for  the  first  time,  in  a  general  way,  and  who  do 
not  understand  the  nature  of  such  transactions.  I  have  been  a 
confessor  many  years,  princess.  I  know  how  few  penitents  can 
be  made  to  believe  that  those  they  have  injured  will  pardon 
them,  if  they  frankly  ask  forgiveness.  It  is  human  nature. 
The  best  of  us  have  doubted  God's  willingness  to  forgive — how 
much  more  do  we  doubt  man's  !  It  is  all  very  logical,  princess, 
very  logical — far  too  logical,  whether  you  will  believe  it  or  not." 

"If  I  believed  the  beginning,"  said  Veronica,  " I  might 
believe  it  all.  But  it  is  not  proved  that  my  uncle  has  defrauded 
me,  and  all  the  rest  seems  absurd,  if  that  is  not  true." 

"I  beseech  you  at  least  to  be  careful !"  answered  the  priest, 
earnestly. 

"In  what  way?  I  shall  go  on  living  here,  just  the  same, 
unless  we  all  go  into  the  country  for  the  rest  of  the  winter.  Even 
if  I  thought  myself  in  danger,  I  do  not  see  what  I  could  do." 


XI  TAQUISARA  133 

"Eat  what  the  others  eat.  Drink  what  the  others  drink. 
Take  nothing  especially  prepared  for  you.  Lock  your  door  at 
night.  If  you  will  not  leave  the  house,  that  is  all  you  can  do." 

He  shook  his  head  thoughtfully. 

It  was  true  Italian  advice — against  poison  and  smothering. 
Veronica  smiled,  even  in  her  sadness. 

"  I  have  no  fear,"  she  said.  "  Let  us  say  no  more  about  it. 
Can  I  do  anything  for  the  people  at  Muro?"  she  asked,  by  way 
of  preparing  to  send  him  away. 

"  The  people  at  Muro — the  people  at  Muro,"  he  repeated, 
dreamily.  "Oh  yes — they  are  all  poor — almost  all.  Money 
would  help  them.  The  best  would  be  to  come  and  see  us 
yourself,  princess.  But  if  you  are  not  careful,  you  will  never 
come  now,"  he  added,  turning  the  big  spectacles  slowly  towards 
her  and  looking  long  into  her  face.  "  I  have  done  what  I  could 
to  warn  you,"  he  said,  beginning  to  rise.  "  I  will  do  anything 
I  can  to  watch  over  you — but  it  will  be  little.  Good-bye.  God 
preserve  you." 

As  she  rose  she  rang  the  bell  beside  her,  that  her  maid  might 
come  and  show  him  the  way  out.  She  knew  that  by  this  time 
Elettra  must  have  returned  from  her  errands.  The  afternoon 
light  was  already  failing. 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and  he  took  it  and  kept  it  for  a 
moment. 

"  God  preserve  you,"  he  repeated,  earnestly. 

He  turned  just  as  Elettra  opened  the  door.  The  woman 
recognized  him  at  once,  came  forward  and  kissed  his  hand,  he 
having  long  been  her  parish  priest.  Then  she  led  the  way  out. 
Don  Teodoro  turned  at  the  door  and  bowed  again,  and  Vero 
nica,  standing  by  the  fire,  nodded  and  smiled  kindly  to  him. 
She  was  sorry  for  him.  She  had  never  seen  him  before,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  devoted  to  her,  and  yet  she  was  sure  that  his  mind 
was  feeble  and  unsettled.  No  sane  person  could  believe  the 
monstrous  things  he  had  told  her. 

Outside,  he  made  a  few  steps  and  then  stopped  Elettra,  laying 
his  emaciated  hand  upon  her  shoulder.  He  looked  behind  him 
and  saw  that  they  were  alone  in  the  passage. 

"Take  care  of  your  mistress,  my  daughter,"  he  said.  "Naples 
is  not  Muro,  but  it  is  no  better.  Let  her  eat  what  others  eat, 
drink  what  others  drink,  and  take  no  medicines  except  from 
you,  and  make  her  lock  her  door  at  night  This  is  not  a  good 
house." 


134  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

The  dark  woman  looked  at  him  fixedly  for  several  seconds, 
and  then  nodded  twice. 

"  It  is  well  that  you  have  told  me,  Father  Curate,"  she  said, 
in  a  low  voice.  "  I  understand." 

That  was  all,  and  she  turned  to  lead  him  out. 


CHAPTER  XII 

AFTER  that,  Elettra,  unknown  to  Veronica,  slept  in  the  dressing- 
room  every  night.  After  her  mistress  had  gone  to  bed  in  the 
inner  chamber,  the  woman  used  to  lock  the  outer  door  softly 
and  then  draw  a  short,  light  sofa  across  it ;  on  this  she  lay  as 
best  she  might.  The  nights  were  cold,  after  the  fire  had  gone 
out,  and  she  covered  herself  with  a  cloak  of  Veronica's.  In 
itself,  it  was  no  great  hardship  for  a  tough  woman  of  the  moun 
tains,  as  she  was.  But  she  slept  little,  for  she  feared  something. 
In  the  small  hours  she  often  thought  she  heard  some  one 
breathing  on  the  other  side  of  the  door,  close  to  the  lock,  and 
once  she  was  quite  sure  that  a  single  ray  of  light  flashed  through 
the  keyhole,  below  the  half-turned  key.  Yet  this  might  have 
been  her  imagination.  And  as  for  the  breathing,  there  was  a 
large  Maltese  cat  in  the  house  that  sometimes  wandered  about 
at  night.  It  might  be  purring  all  alone  outside,  in  the  dark,  and 
she  might  have  taken  the  sound  for  that  of  human  breathing. 
No  people  are  more  suspicious  and  imaginative  than  Italians, 
when  they  have  been  warned  that  there  is  danger;  and  this  does 
not  proceed  from  natural  timidity,  but  from  the  enormous  value 
they  set  upon  life  itself,  as  a  good  possession. 

As  for  what  Veronica  ate  and  drank,  Elettra  was  wise,  too. 
She  felt  sure  that  if  any  attempt  were  made  to  poison  her, 
Matilde  would  manage  it  quite  alone;  and  she  seriously  ex 
pected  that  such  an  attempt  would  be  made,  after  what  Don 
Teodoro  had  told  her.  Veronica,  like  most  Italians  in  the 
south,  never  took  any  regular  breakfast,  beyond  a  cup  of  coffee, 
or  tea,  or  chocolate,  with  a  bit  of  bread  or  a  biscuit,  as  soon  as 
she  awoke.  It  was  easy  to  be  sure  that  such  simple  things  had 
not  been  within  Matilde's  reach,  and  it  was  Elettra's  duty  to  go 
to  the  pantry  where  coffee  was  made,  and  to  bring  the  little  tray 
to  Veronica's  room.  At  night,  the  young  girl  had  a  glass  of 


xii  TAQUISARA  135 

water  and  a  biscuit  set  beside  her,  when  she  went  to  sleep,  but 
she  rarely  touched  either.  Elettra  now  brought  the  biscuits 
herself  and  kept  them  in  a  cupboard  in  the  dressing-room,  and 
she  herself  drew  the  water  every  night  to  fill  the  glass.  So  far 
as  any  food  and  drink  which  came  to  her  room  were  concerned, 
Veronica  was  perfectly  safe.  But  Elettra  could  not  control  what 
she  ate  in  the  dining-room.  She  would  not  communicate  her 
fears  to  Veronica,  either,  for  she  knew  her  mistress  well ;  and 
at  the  same  time  she  did  not  know  what  or  how  much  Don 
Teodoro  had  told  her  during  his  visit.  Veronica  was  perfectly 
fearless,  and  was  inclined  to  be  impatient,  at  any  time,  when 
any  one  insisted  upon  her  taking  any  precautions,  for  any  reason 
whatsoever — even  against  catching  cold.  She  was  not  rash, 
however,  for  she  had  not  been  brought  up  in  a  way  to  develop 
any  such  tendency.  She  was  naturally  courageous,  and  that 
was  all.  She  was  unconscious  of  the  quality,  for  she  had  not 
hitherto  been  aware  of  ever  being  in  any  real  danger. 

As  for  Don  Teodoro's  warning,  she  put  it  down  as  the  result 
of  some  mental  shock  which  had  weakened  his  intelligence. 
Possibly  Bosio's  sudden  and  terrible  death  had  affected  him  in 
that  way.  At  all  events,  she  was  enough  of  an  Italian  to  know 
how  often  in  Italy  such  extraordinary  ideas  of  fictitious  treachery 
find  their  way  into  the  brains  of  timid  people.  On  the  face  of 
it,  the  whole  story  seemed  to  her  utterly  absurd  and  foolish, 
from  the  tale  of  Macomer's  ingenious  frauds  upon  her  property, 
to  the  supposition  that  she  was  in  danger  of  being  murdered 
for  her  fortune.  Murder  was  always  found  out  in  the  end,  she 
thought,  and  of  course  such  people  as  her  aunt  and  uncle,  even 
if  they  had  any  real  reason  for  wishing  their  niece  out  of  the 
way,  would  never  really  think  of  doing  anything  at  once  so 
wicked  and  so  unwise.  But  the  whole  thing  was  absurd,  she 
repeated  to  herself,  and  she  found  it  easy  to  put  it  out  of  her 
thoughts. 

Meanwhile,  the  first  days  after  the  catastrophe  passed  in  that 
sad,  unmarked  succession  of  objectless  hours  by  which  time 
moves  in  a  house  where  such  a  death  has  taken  place.  It  is 
not  the  custom  among  the  upper  classes  of  Italians  to  attend 
the  funerals  of  relations  and  friends.  The  servants  are  sent,  in 
deep  mourning,  to  kneel  before  the  catafalque  in  church  during 
the  first  requiem  mass.  Occasionally  some  of  the  men  of  a 
family  are  present  at  the  short  ceremony  in  the  cemetery.  But 
that  is  all.  The  family,  as  a  rule,  leaves  the  city  at  once. 


136  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Veronica  wondered  why  her  aunt  and  uncle  did  not  propose 
to  go  to  the  country.  Macomer  had  a  pretty  place  in  the  hills 
near  Caserta,  and  though  it  was  winter  the  climate  there  was 
very  pleasant.  She  did  not  know  that  the  house  was  already 
dismantled,  in  anticipation  of  the  probable  foreclosure  of  a 
mortgage.  Besides,  in  his  desperate  position,  Gregorio  would 
have  feared  to  leave  Naples  for  a  day.  As  for  making  a  journey 
to  some  other  city,  he  was  positively  reduced  to  the  point  of 
having  no  ready  money  with  which  to  go.  Lamberto  Squarci, 
the  notary,  positively  refused  to  advance  anything,  and  it  was 
quite  certain  that  no  one  else  would.  For  Squarci,  who  was  a 
wise  villain  in  his  way,  and  had  aided  and  abetted  Macomer's 
frauds  in  order  to  enrich  himself,  had  only  given  his  assistance 
so  long  as  he  was  quite  sure  that  he  was  acting  as  the  paid 
agent  of  Veronica's  guardian.  The  responsibility  was  then 
entirely  theirs,  and  he  merely  obeyed  their  directions  in  pre 
paring  any  necessary  legal  documents.  But  as  soon  as  the 
guardianship  had  expired,  he  knew  that  in  order  to  be  of  use 
in  helping  Macomer  to  rob  his  ward,  he  should  be  obliged  to 
artificially  construct  the  instruments  needed,  in  such  a  way  as 
to  appear  legal  to  the  world.  In  such  business,  forgery  could 
not  be  far  off.  The  man  had  himself  to  think  of  as  well  as 
mere  money,  and  at  the  point  where  the  smallest  illegality  of 
action  on  his  part  would  have  begun,  he  stopped  short,  and 
refused  to  do  anything  whatever,  leaving  Macomer  to  grapple 
with  his  creditors  as  best  he  might,  and  to  take  care  of  himself 
if  he  could.  It  was  now  the  middle  of  December,  and  the 
guardianship  had  expired,  legally  speaking,  in  the  previous 
month  of  March,  when  Macomer's  debts  had  already  reached 
a  very  high  figure.  Macomer,  after  that,  had  presumed  upon 
his  authority  and  position  to  draw  Veronica's  income  for  his 
own  purposes.  That  was  easy,  as  the  revenues  accrued  almost 
entirely  from  the  great  landed  estates,  of  which  the  various 
stewards  were  in  the  habit  of  sending  the  rents,  when  collected, 
directly  to  Macomer.  It  was  clear  that  unless  Veronica  herself 
protested,  and  until  the  authorities  should  discover  that  she 
was  being  cheated,  these  men  would  naturally  continue  to  send 
the  rents  to  the  order  of  Gregorio  Macomer. 

Feeling  that  he  was  near  the  end  of  his  chances,  he  had 
desperately  attempted  to  improve  his  position  by  using  as  much 
of  the  year's  income  as  he  could  extract  from  the  stewards,  in 
a  final  speculation.  This  had  failed.  He  had  not  been  able 


xii  TAQUISARA  137 

to  pay  the  interest  on  his  mortgages,  and  the  ready  money  was 
all  gone.  A  disastrous  financial  crisis  had  supervened,  which 
had  made  itself  felt  throughout  the  country,  and  the  banks 
which  held  the  mortgages  had  given  notice  that  they  would 
foreclose  some  of  them,  and  not  renew  the  others.  If  Gregorio 
Macomer  could  have  laid  hands,  no  matter  how,  on  any  sum 
of  money  worth  mentioning,  he  would  have  fled,  under  an 
assumed  name,  to  the  Argentine  Republic,  the  usual  refuge  of 
Italians  in  difficulties.  But  he  had  exhausted  all  he  could 
touch,  had  gambled,  and  had  lost  it.  If  he  fled  now,  it  must 
be  as  a  penniless  emigrant.  As  he  had  no  taste  for  such 
adventures,  at  his  age,  there  was  but  one  chance  for  him,  and 
that  lay  in  somehow  getting  control  of  Veronica's  fortune  before 
the  end  of  the  month.  As  for  getting  any  more  of  the  income, 
in  time  to  be  of  any  use  in  staving  off  the  tidal  wave  of  ruin 
that  rose  against  him,  there  was  no  chance  of  that.  The  farmers 
all  over  the  country  paid  their  quarter's  rents  on  the  first  of 
January,  or  should  do  so,  but  there  was  often  difficulty  in  col 
lecting,  and  the  money  would  not  really  get  to  Macomer's  hands 
much  before  February.  By  that  time  all  would  be  over ;  and 
it  was  not  the  idea  of  bankruptcy  which  frightened  Gregorio ; 
it  was  the  certainty  that  a  declaration  of  bankruptcy  must  lead 
to,  and  involve,  a  minute  examination  into  his  past  transactions 
which  had  led  to  it. 

Matilde  knew  all  the  truth,  as  has  been  shown.  What  she 
suffered  in  remaining  in  Naples,  in  going  and  coming  through 
the  familiar  rooms,  in  spending  her  evenings  in  that  room,  of 
all  others,  in  which  she  had  last  seen  Bosio  alive,  no  one 
knew.  She  went  about  silently,  and  her  face  grew  daily  paler 
and  thinner.  In  her  behaviour  she  was  subdued  and  silent, 
though  she  treated  Veronica  with  greater  consideration  than 
before.  They  had  never  spoken  together  of  the  possible 
reasons  for  Bosio's  death,  but  it  had  been  publicly  stated  that 
he  had  been  insane,  and  Matilde,  to  all  appearances,  accepted 
the  explanation  as  sufficient.  It  was  made  the  more  reasonable 
by  the  evident  fact  that  Gregorio's  mind  was  unsettled,  and 
that  he  himself  was  in  imminent  danger  of  going  mad.  That, 
at  least,  was  the  impression  produced  upon  the  household. 

As  the  days  went  by,  the  gloom  deepened  in  the  Palazzo 
Macomer,  and  when  the  three  met  at  their  meals,  or  sat  to 
gether  for  a  short  time  in  the  evening,  the  silence  was  rarely 
broken. 


138  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

At  first,  it  was  congenial  to  Veronica ;  for  if  her  grief  was 
not  passionate  nor  destined  to  be  everlasting,  her  sorrow  was 
profoundly  sincere.  It  was  the  companionship  of  Bosio  that  she 
missed  most  keenly  and  constantly,  through  the  long,  empty  hours. 

No  one  who  called  was  received  during  those  first  days.  It 
chanced  that  Cardinal  Campodonico  had  gone  to  Rome  to 
attend  one  of  the  consistories  for  the  creation  of  new  cardinals, 
which  are  often  held  shortly  before  Christmas.  Had  he  been 
in  Naples,  he  would  of  course  have  been  admitted.  He  wrote 
to  Gregorio,  and  to  Veronica,  short,  stiff,  but  sincere,  letters 
of  condolence.  He  was  a  man  of  a  large  heart,  which  was 
terribly  tempered  by  a  very  narrow  understanding ;  generous, 
rather  than  charitable ;  sincere,  more  than  expansive ;  tena 
cious,  not  sanguine;  keen  beyond  measure  in  ecclesiastical 
affairs,  devoted  to  a  cause,  but  unresponsive  to  the  touch  and 
contact  of  humanity ;  hot  in  strife,  but  cold  in  affection. 

Society  came  to  the  door  of  the  palace  and  deposited  cards, 
with  a  pencilled  abbreviation  for  a  phrase  of  condolence,  the 
very  shortest  shorthand  of  sympathy.  Veronica  looked  through 
them.  All  the  Delia  Spina  people  had  come.  She  found  also 
Taquisara's  plain  cards, — '  Sigismondo  Taquisara,' — without  so 
much  as  a  title,  and  in  the  corner  were  the  usual  two  letters 
in  pencil,  strong  and  clear,  but  just  the  same  as  those  on  all 
the  others.  Somehow,  she  knew  that  she  had  looked  through 
them  all,  in  order  to  find  his  and  Gianluca's.  The  letters  on 
the  latter's  bit  of  pasteboard  were  in  a  feminine  hand — prob 
ably  his  mother's.  Veronica's  lip  curled  a  little  scornfully,  but 
then  she  looked  suddenly  grave — perhaps  he  had  been  too 
ill  to  come  himself,  and,  if  so,  she  was  sorry  for  him  and  would 
not  laugh  at  him.  As  for  Taquisara,  he  was  so  unlike  other 
men,  that  she  had  unconsciously  expected  something  different 
to  be  visible  on  his  card. 

The  lonely  girl  spent  as  much  of  her  time  as  possible  in 
reading.  But  it  was  very  gloomy.  It  rained,  too,  for  days 
together,  which  made  it  worse.  Bianca  Corleone  came  to  see 
her,  and  they  sat  a  long  time  together,  but  neither  referred  to 
Gianluca,  and  very  little  was  said  about  poor  Bosio.  It  was 
impossible  to  talk  freely,  so  soon  after  his  death,  and  Veronica 
was  not  inclined  to  tell  even  her  intimate  friend  of  what  had 
happened  on  that  last  night.  It  had  something  of  a  sacred 
character  for  her,  and  she  said  prayers  nightly  before  the  poor 
man's  photograph,  sometimes  with  tears. 


xii  TAQUISARA  139 

Now  and  then  Veronica  felt  so  utterly  desolate  that  she 
made  Elettra  come  and  sit  in  her  dressing-room  and  sew, 
merely  to  feel  that  there  was  something  human  and  alive  near 
her.  She  enticed  the  Maltese  cat  to  live  in  her  rooms  as  much 
as  possible,  for  its  animal  company.  She  did  not  talk  with  her 
maid,  but  it  was  less  lonely  to  have  her  sitting  there,  by  the 
window. 

She  supposed  that  before  long  the  first  black  cloud  of 
mourning  would  lighten  a  little  over  the  house,  and  she  had 
been  taught  at  the  convent  to  be  patient  under  difficulties  and 
troubles.  The  memory  of  that  teaching  was  still  near,  and 
in  her  genuine  sorrow,  with  the  youthfully  fervent  religious 
thoughts  thereby  re-enlivened,  she  was  ready  to  bear  such 
burdens  and  make  such  sacrifices  as  might  come  into  her  way, 
with  the  assured  belief  that  they  were  especially  sent  from 
heaven  for  the  improvement  of  her  soul,  by  the  restraint  and 
mortification  of  her  very  innocent  worldly  desires. 

It  could  hardly  have  been  otherwise.  She  had  not  yet 
loved  Bosio,  but  her  affection  had  been  sincere  and  of  long 
growth.  On  the  last  day  of  his  life  he  had  become  her  be 
trothed  husband,  and  for  one  hour  all  her  future  living,  as 
woman,  wife,  and  mother,  had  been  bound  up  with  his,  to 
have  being  only  with  him — to  disappear  in  black  darkness 
with  his  tragic  death,  as  though  he  had  taken  all  motherhood 
and  wifehood  and  womanhood  of  hers  to  the  grave  forever. 
As  for  what  Don  Teodoro  had  said  of  his  having  loved 
Matilde,  she  believed  that  less  than  all  the  rest,  if  possible ; 
and  the  fact  that  the  priest  had  said  it  proved  beyond  all  doubt 
to  her  that  he  was  out  of  his  mind.  Beyond  that,  it  had  not 
prejudiced  her  against  him,  for  there  was  a  certain  noble 
loftiness  in  her  character  which  could  largely  forgive  an  un 
meant  wrong. 

In  her  great  loneliness,  in  that  dismal  household,  the  reality 
of  faith,  hope,  and  charity  as  the  body,  mind,  and  spirit  of  the 
truest  life,  took  hold  upon  her  thoughts,  as  the  mere  words  and 
emblems  of  religion  had  not  done  in  her  first  girlhood.  She 
read  for  the  first  time  the  Imitation  of  Christ  and  some  of  the 
meditations  of  Saint  Bernard.  The  true  young  soul,  suddenly 
and  tragically  severed  from  the  anticipation  of  womanly  happi 
ness,  turned  gladly  to  visions  of  saintly  joy — simply  and  without 
affectation  of  form  or  show — purely  and  without  earthly  regret 
• — humbly  and  without  touch  of  taint  from  spiritual  pride.  She 


140  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

had  no  burden  to  cast  from  her  conscience,  and  she  sought 
neither  confessor  nor  director  for  the  guidance  of  her  thinking 
or  doing.  Straight  and  undoubting,  her  thoughts  went  heaven 
wards,  to  lay  before  God's  feet  the  sad,  sweet  offering  of  her 
own  sorrow. 

Without,  in  those  dark  winter  days,  storm  drove  storm  over 
the  ancient,  evil  city,  rain  followed  rain,  and  gloom  changed 
watches  with  darkness  by  day  and  night  for  one  whole  week, 
while  the  moon  waned  from  the  last  quarter  to  the  new.  And 
within,  Matilde  Macomer  went  about  the  house,  when  she  left 
her  room  at  all,  like  a  great,  pale-faced,  black  shadow  of  some 
thing  terrible,  passing  words.  And  in  the  library,  Gregorio's 
stony  features  were  bent  all  day  over  papers  and  documents 
and  books  of  accounts,  seeking  refuge  from  sure  ruin,  while 
now  and  then  his  face  was  twisted  into  a  curiously  vacant 
grimace,  and  his  maniac  laugh  cracked  and  reverberated  through 
the  lonely,  vaulted  chamber.  He  often  sat  there  by  himself 
until  late  into  the  night,  for  the  end  of  the  year  was  at  hand, 
with  all  the  destruction  that  a  date  can  mean  when  a  man  is 
ruined, 

It  was  a  big,  long  room,  with  old  bookcases  ranged  by  the 
walls,  not  more  than  five  feet  high,  and  closed  by  doors  of  brass 
wire  netting  lined  with  dark  green  cotton.  A  polished  table 
took  up  most  of  the  length  between  the  door  which  led  to 
the  hall  at  the  one  end,  and  the  single  high  window  at  the 
other.  There  was  no  fireplace,  and  the  count  had  the  place 
warmed  by  means  of  a  big  brass  brazier  filled  with  wood  coals. 
At  night,  he  had  two  large  lamps  with  green  glass  shades. 

Matilde  sometimes  came  in  and  sat  with  him  during  the 
evening.  She  looked  at  him,  and  wished  he  were  dead.  But 
she  was  drawn  there  by  the  power  which  brings  together  two 
persons  menaced  by  a  common  danger,  in  the  hope  that  some 
thing  may  suddenly  change,  and  turn  peril  into  safety.  He  sat 
at  one  end  of  the  table  with  his  papers,  and  she  took  the  place 
opposite  to  him,  the  lamp  being  a  little  on  one  side,  so  that 
they  could  see  each  other.  They  were  a  gloomy  couple,  in 
their  black  clothes,  under  the  green  light,  with  harassed,  mask- 
like  faces. 

One  night,  Matilde  came  in  very  late.  She  trod  softly  on 
the  polished  floor,  wearing  felt  slippers. 

"Elettra  sleeps  in  her  dressing-room,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 


xii  TAQUISARA  141 

Macomer  looked  up,  and  the  twitching  of  his  face  began 
instantly,  as  though  he  were  going  to  laugh.  Matilde  brought 
the  palm  of  her  hand  down  sharply  upon  the  bare  table,  fixing 
her  eyes  upon  him. 

" Stop  that ! "  she  cried,  in  a  tone  of  command.  "It  is  very 
well  for  the  servants.  You  are  learning  to  do  it  very  well.  It 
is  of  no  use  with  me." 

He  looked  at  her  steadily  for  a  moment.  Then  he  laughed, 
but  naturally  and  low. 

"  I  might  have  known  that  you  would  find  me  out,"  he  said. 
"  But  it  is  becoming  a  habit.  It  may  serve  us  in  the  end. 
How  do  you  know  that  the  woman  sleeps  in  Veronica's  dressing- 
room  ?  " 

"  I  was  wandering  about,  just  now,"  answered  Matilde, 
looking  away  from  him.  "  I  saw  the  door  of  Elettra's  room 
ajar.  I  pushed  it  open  and  looked  in,  and  I  saw  that  her  bed 
was  not  disturbed.  Then  I  stood  outside  the  door  of  Veronica's 
dressing-room,  and  listened.  Something  moved  once,  and  I 
was  sure  that  I  heard  breathing." 

Gregorio  watched  her  gravely  while  she  was  speaking, 
but  in  the  silence  that  followed,  his  small  eyes  wandered 
uneasily. 

"The  girl  is  lonely,"  he  said,  at  last.  "She  makes  Elettra 
sleep  in  the  room  next  to  hers,  because  she  is  nervous." 

Matilde  seemed  to  be  thinking  over  what  she  had  said. 
Some  time  passed  before  she  answered,  and  then  it  was  by  a 
vague  question. 

"Well?" 

Again  they  looked  at  each  other. 

"  That  is  certainly  bad,"  said  Macomer,  thoughtfully.  "  What 
are  we  to  do  ?  Speak  to  her  about  it  ?  You  can  say  that  you 
found  Elettra's  door  open,  at  this  hour." 

"  It  would  do  no  good,"  answered  Matilde.  "  We  could  not 
prevent  her  from  having  her  maid  there,  if  she  wishes  it." 

"After  all,"  observed  Macomer,  absently,  "it  is  only  a 
woman." 

"  Only  a  woman  ? "  Matilde's  lip  curled.  "  I  am  only  a 
woman." 

Macomer  nodded  slowly,  as  though  realizing  what  that  meant, 
but  he  said  nothing  in  answer.  With  his  hands  under  the 
table  he  slipped  low  down  in  his  chair,  his  head  bent  forward 
upon  his  breast,  in  deep  thought. 


142  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"Can  you  not  suggest  anything?"  asked  Matilde,  at  last, 
gazing  at  him  somewhat  scornfully.  "After  all,  this  is  your 
fault.  You  have  dragged  me  into  this  ruin  with  you." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  he  repeated,  in  a  low  voice.  "But  we 
cannot  do  it  now — with  that  woman  there." 

"No.  It  is  impossible  now."  Matilde's  tones  sank  to  a 
whisper. 

She  looked  down  at  her  strong  hands  that  had  grown  thinner 
during  the  past  days,  but  were  strong  still.  Gregorio  waited  a 
few  moments  and  then  roused  himself  and  bent  over  his  papers 
again. 

"  You  cannot  see  any  way  out  of  it,  can  you  ? "  asked  his 
wife  at  last.  "Is  there  no  possibility  of  keeping  afloat  until 
things  go  better  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  Macomer,  not  looking  up.  "There  is 
nothing  to  go  better.  You  know  it  all.  There  is  only  that 
one  way.  Failing  that,  I  must  go  mad.  One  can  recover  from 
madness,  you  know." 

"Yes,"  said  Matilde,  thoughtfully.  "But  it  is  a  very  difficult 
thing  to  do  well.  They  have  expert  doctors,  who  know  the  real 
thing  from  the  imitation." 

Gregorio  looked  up  suddenly. 

"  She  could  not  go  mad,  could  she  ? "  he  asked,  a  quiver  of 
cunning  intelligence  making  his  stony  mask  quiver.  "  Are  there 
not  things — is  there  not  something — you  know — something  that 
produces  that?  What  is  all  this  talk,  nowadays,  about  hypnotic 
suggestion  ?  " 

"  Fairy  tales  ! "  exclaimed  Matilde,  incredulously.  "  The 
other  is  sure.  This  is  no  time  for  experiments.  There  are 
thirteen  days  left  in  this  year.  If  we  are  to  do  it  at  all,  we  must 
do  it  quickly." 

"  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  the  pillow,"  said  Macomer,  speak 
ing  very  low  again. 

Matilde's  shoulders  moved  uneasily,  as  though  she  were 
chilly,  but  her  face  did  not  change. 

"It  is  of  no  use  to  talk  of  such  things,"  she  answered. 
"Besides,"  she  added,  "you  are  dull.  Only  remember  that 
you  have  just  thirteen  days  more,  after  to-day." 

"  Remember  ! "  his  voice  told  all  his  terror  of  the  limit. 

Then  Matilde  did  not  speak  again.  She  rested  her  elbows 
on  the  table,  and  her  chin  upon  her  hands,  staring  at  him  as 
though  she  did  not  see  him,  evidently  in  deep  thought.  He 


XII  TAQUISARA  143 

bent  over  his  papers,  but  was  aware  that  her  eyes  were  on  him. 
He  glanced  up  nervously. 

"Please  do  not  look  at  me  in  that  way.  You  make  me 
nervous,"  he  said. 

With  a  scornful  half-laugh  she  rose  from  her  seat. 

"Good  night,"  she  said,  indifferently,  and  in  her  soft  felt 
slippers  she  noiselessly  went  away. 

She  had  not  come  in  the  expectation  of  help  from  her  husband 
in  anything  that  was  to  be  done.  But  besides  the  bond  of  fear 
by  which  they  were  drawn  together,  there  was  the  feeling  that 
his  presence,  especially  in  that  room,  brought  before  her  vividly 
the  necessity  for  action.  Under  such  pressure,  an  idea  might 
come  to  her  which  would  be  worth  having.  It  had  come  to 
night,  but  it  was  of  a  nature  which  made  it  wiser  not  to  tell 
Gregorio  about  it.  Such  things,  being  complicated  and  delicate, 
and  difficult  of  execution,  were  best  kept  to  herself,  at  least 
until  her  plans  were  matured  and  ready.  But  this  time,  she 
believed  that  she  had  at  last  what  she  wanted.  The  scheme 
flashed  upon  her  all  at  once,  complete  and  feasible,  and  per 
fectly  safe,  but  she  resolved  to  think  it  over  for  twenty-four 
hours  before  finally  deciding  to  adopt  it. 

And  while  such  things  were  being  said  and  done  in  the 
lonely  night,  and  deeply  pondered  through  the  long,  silent  days, 
Veronica  came  and  went  peacefully,  with  sad  but  not  unhappy 
eyes,  her  thoughts  fixed  upon  the  new  path  by  which  her  single 
sorrow  was  to  lead  her  up  to  the  eternity  of  all  celestial  joys. 

In  those  days  she  determined  to  lead  a  holy  life,  in  the 
memory  of  the  dead  betrothed,  and  perhaps  in  the  thought  that 
by  the  outpouring  of  much  good  around  her,  she  might  yet 
obtain  mercy  for  the  soul  of  one  self-slain.  She  meant  not  to 
cut  herself  off  from  all  mankind,  devoting  her  maidenhood  to 
heaven  and  her  body  to  the  servitude  of  slow  suffering,  whereby 
some  say  that  the  spirit  may  be  saved  most  certainly — in  the 
hard  rule  of  daily  dying,  and  daily  rising  again  one  day  nearer 
to  death.  That  was  not  what  she  meant  to  do ;  that  depth  of 
godly  dreaming  was  too  cold  and  still  a  depth  for  her.  There 
must  be  motion  and  life  in  her  means  of  grace,  since  she  had 
the  power  to  make  others  move  and  live.  Marriage,  wifehood, 
motherhood,  should  not  be  for  her,  she  said ;  but  there  was  all 
the  rest.  There  were  the  many  hundreds — the  thousands, 
indeed,  had  she  known  it — of  men  and  women  and  poor  children, 
toiling  against  the  impossible  with  hands  that  had  long  learned 


144  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

to  labour  in  vain,  save  for  the  bare  bread  of  life.  To  them  all, 
in  many  quarters  of  the  land,  she  would  be  a  mother,  to  help 
them,  to  feed  them,  and  to  heal  them ;  to  work  for  them  and 
their  welfare,  as  they  had  worked  and  toiled  for  the  greatness  of 
her  dim,  great  ancestors,  repaying  to  humanity,  in  one  lifetime, 
what  humanity  had  been  forced  to  give  them  through  many 
generations. 

She  would  lead  a  holy  life,  for  she  would  pray  continually, 
when  there  was  nothing  else  that  she  could  do.  When  she 
could  not  be  thinking  out  some  good  thing  for  her  people,  she 
would  meditate  upon  higher  things  for  the  good  of  her  own 
soul.  But  first  and  foremost  should  be  the  doing,  the  helping, 
the  giving  of  life  to  the  far  spent,  and  of  hope  to  the  helpless. 

There  in  that  room,  where  she  dwelt  continually  in  those 
days,  she  made  no  vow,  she  registered  no  resolution,  she  im 
posed  no  one  self  upon  another  self  within  her  to  thrust  out 
evil  and  implant  good.  She  had  no  need  of  that.  It  was  all 
as  simply  natural  as  the  growth  of  a  flower,  effortless,  rising 
heavenward  by  its  own  instinct  life. 

In  one  thing  only  she  made  a  determination  of  her  will. 
She  decided  that  with  the  new  year  she  would  at  last  take  over 
her  fortune  and  estates  into  her  own  management.  Until  she 
did  that  she  could  not  know  what  she  had,  nor  where  she 
should  begin  her  good  work.  That  was  absolutely  necessary, 
and  of  course,  thought  she,  it  presented  no  difficulty  at  all. 
Possibly  her  own  indolence  about  it,  and  her  distaste  for  going 
into  the  question  of  money  and  accounts,  was  a  fault  with 
which  she  should  have  reproached  herself,  because  she  might 
have  begun  to  do  good  sooner,  had  she  chosen.  But  she  did 
not  think  of  that.  She  would  begin  with  the  new  year. 

As  though  a  good  destiny  had  anticipated  her  desire,  the 
first  call  for  her  help  came  suddenly,  on  the  day  after  the  last 
recorded  conversation  between  Gregorio  and  Matilde. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  morning  when  Elettra  brought  her 
a  letter,  bearing  the  postmark  of  the  city,  and  addressed  in  one 
of  those  small,  clear  handwritings  which  seem  naturally  to 
belong  to  scholars  and  students.  It  was  from  Don  Teodoro, 
and  Veronica  read  it  while  she  drank  her  tea  and  Elettra  was 
making  a  fire  in  the  next  room. 

The  old  priest  did  not  refer  to  the  strange  story  he  had  told 
her  ten  days  earlier.  But  he  recalled  her  question  concerning 
the  people  at  Muro  and  their  condition.  They  were  indeed 


xii  TAQUISARA  145 

desperately  poor,  he  said,  and  the  winter  was  a  hard  one  in  the 
mountains.  There  were  many  sick,  and  there  was  no  hospital, 
— not  so  much  as  a  room  in  which  a  dying  beggar  might  lie  out 
of  the  cold.  It  was  a  very  pitiful  tale,  told  carefully  and 
accurately.  And  at  the  end  the  good  man  humbly  begged  that 
the  most  Excellent  Princess  would  deign  to  allow  his  stipend 
to  be  paid  in  advance,  in  order  that  he  might  do  something 
to  help  his  poor. 

Veronica  read  the  letter  twice,  and  judged  it.  Then  she 
determined  to  do  something  at  once,  for  she  knew  that  the  man 
had  written  the  truth.  She  should  have  liked  to  send  for  him, 
and  talk  with  him  of  what  should  be  done ;  but  she  could  not 
forget  the  things  he  had  said  about  Bosio,  and  for  that  reason 
she  did  not  wish  to  see  him  again — at  least,  not  yet.  His  mind 
was  unbalanced  about  that  matter ;  but  charity  was  a  different 
thing. 

His  address  in  Naples  was  in  the  letter.  She  wrote  a  note  in 
answer,  begging  him  to  tell  her  how  much  money  he  should 
need  to  hire  a  vacant  house,  since  there  was  no  time  to  build 
one,  and  to  fit  it  decently  with  what  he  thought  necessary, 
in  order  that  it  might  serve  as  a  refuge  and  hospital  for  the 
very  poor.  She  sent  Elettra  with  the  letter. 

It  was  raining  again,  and  by  good  fortune  Don  Teodoro  was 
at  home,  though  it  was  still  before  noon.  While  the  maid 
waited,  he  wrote  his  answer.  His  thanks  were  heartfelt  on 
behalf  of  his  parish,  but  shortly  expressed.  He  said  that  in 
order  to  do  what  Veronica  proposed  so  generously,  at  least  two 
thousand  francs  would  be  necessary.  He  briefly  explained  why 
the  charity  would  need  what  he  looked  upon  as  a  large  sum/and 
he  begged  pardon  for  being  so  frank. 

Again  Veronica  read  the  letter  carefully  over,  and  she  put  it 
into  the  desk.  Half  an  hour  later  she  went  to  luncheon.  The 
meal  was  as  silent  and  gloomy  as  usual,  and  scarcely  half  a 
dozen  words  were  said.  Afterwards  the  three  came  back  to  the 
yellow  drawing-room  for  their  coffee.  When  the  servant  was 
gone,  Veronica,  stirring  the  sugar  in  her  cup,  turned  to  her  uncle. 

"  Will  you  please  give  me  three  thousand  francs,  Uncle 
Gregorio  ? "  she  asked,  quietly.  "  I  want  it  this  afternoon,  if 
you  please." 

Gregorio  Macomer  grew  slowly  white  to  the  tips  of  his  ears. 
Matilde  sipped  her  coffee,  and  turned  her  back  to  the  light. 

"  Three  thousand  francs ! "  repeated  Macomer,  slowly  re- 

K 


146  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

covering  a  little  self-control.  "  My  dear  child !  What  can 
you  want  of  so  much  money  ?  " 

"  Is  it  so  very  much  ?  "  asked  Veronica,  innocently  surprised. 
"You  have  told  me  that  I  have  more  than  eight  hundred 
thousand  a  year.  It  is  for  charity.  The  people  at  Muro  have 
no  hospital.  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  give  it  to  me  before 
four  o'clock ;  I  wish  to  send  it  at  once." 

Macomer  had  barely  a  thousand  francs  in  the  house,  and 
he  knew  that  there  was  not  a  man  of  business  in  Naples  who 
would  have  lent  him  half  the  little  sum  for  which  Veronica  was 
asking. 

"  I  shall  certainly  not  give  you  money  for  any  such  absurd 
purpose,"  said  Gregorio,  with  sudden,  assumed  sternness. 

Veronica  raised  her  eyes  in  quiet  astonishment,  offended,  but 
not  disconcerted. 

"  Really,  Uncle  Gregorio,"  she  said,  "  as  I  am  of  age  and 
mistress  of  whatever  is  mine,  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  my  little 
charities.  Besides,  you  know,  it  is  not  giving,  since  you  are 
no  longer  my  guardian  in  reality.  It  is  merely  a  case  of  sending 
to  the  bank  for  the  money,  if  you  have  not  got  it  in  the  house. 
I  should  like  it  before  four  o'clock,  if  you  please,  Uncle 
Gregorio." 

In  his  terror  the  man  lost  his  temper. 

"I  shall  certainly  not  let  you  have  it,"  he  answered,  with 
cold  irritation.  "  It  is  absurd  ! " 

If  Veronica  had  wanted  the  money  to  spend  it  on  herself, 
she  might  have  waited  until  he  was  cool  again,  in  the  evening, 
before  insisting.  But  her  blood  rose,  for  she  felt  that  it  was 
for  her  poor  people,  starving,  sick,  frozen,  shelterless,  in  distant 
Muro.  She  knew  perfectly  well  what  her  rights  were,  and  she 
asserted  them  then  and  there  with  a  calm  young  dignity  of 
purpose  which  terrified  Gregorio  more  and  more. 

"This  is  very  strange,"  she  said.  "I  do  not  wish  to  say 
disagreeable  things,  Uncle  Gregorio ;  we  should  both  regret 
them.  But  you  know  that  I  am  entitled  to  spend  all  my 
income  as  I  please,  and  I  must  really  beg  you  to  get  me  this 
money  at  once.  It  is  for  a  good  purpose.  The  case  is  urgent. 
I  am  the  proper  judge  of  whether  it  is  needed  or  not,  and  I 
have  decided  that  I  will  give  it.  There  is  nothing  more  to 
be  said." 

"  Except  that  I  entirely  refuse  to  listen  to  such  words  from 
my  ward ! "  answered  Gregorio,  angrily. 


xii  TAQUISARA  147 

"  I  appeal  to  you,  Aunt  Matilde,"  said  Veronica,  setting  down 
her  coffee  cup  upon  the  table  and  turning  to  the  countess. 

But  Matilde  knew  well  enough  that  her  husband  could 
not  get  the  money.  She  shook  her  head  gravely  and  said 
nothing. 

By  this  time  Veronica  was  thoroughly  determined  to  have 
her  way. 

"  Very  well,"  she  answered,  calmly.  "  I  shall  telegraph  to 
the  cardinal.  I  understand  that  he  is  in  Rome." 

Gregorio  turned  away,  and  he  felt  that  his  knees  were  shak 
ing  under  him.  He  knew  well  enough  what  the  result  would 
be  if  the  cardinal's  suspicions  were  aroused.  Matilde  saw  the 
danger  and  interfered. 

"  I  think  you  are  pushing  such  a  small  matter  to  the  verge 
of  a  quarrel,  Gregorio,"  she  said,  sweetly.  "  Since  Veronica 
insists,  you  must  give  her  the  money.  After  all,  it  is  hers,  as 
she  says." 

Macomer  turned  and  stared  at  his  wife  in  amazement. 

"  I  am  going  out  at  once,"  she  continued.  "  If  you  like,  I 
will  go  to  the  bank  and  get  the  money  for  you.  Yes,  dear," 
she  added,  turning  to  Veronica,  "  I  shall  be  back  before  four 
o'clock,  and  you  shall  have  it  in  plenty  of  time.  Did  you  say 
four  thousand  or  five  thousand  ?  " 

"  Only  three,"  answered  the  young  girl,  rapidly  pacified. 
"  Three  thousand,  if  you  please.  Thank  you  very  much,  Aunt 
Matilde !  A  woman  always  understands  a  woman  in  questions 
of  charity.  One  wishes  to  act  at  once.  Thank  you." 

And  in  order  to  end  an  unpleasant  situation,  she  nodded  and 
left  the  room.  Husband  and  wife  waited  a  moment  after  the 
door  was  closed.  Then  Matilde,  before  Gregorio  could  speak, 
went  and  opened  it  suddenly  and  looked  out,  but  there  was  no 
one  there. 

"  She  would  not  listen  at  the  door ! "  exclaimed  Gregorio, 
with  some  contempt  for  his  wife's  caution. 

"  She  ?     No  !     But  I  distrust  that  woman  she  has." 

"And  how  do  you  propose  to  get  this  money?"  asked  the 
count. 

"Have  I  no  diamonds?"  inquired  Matilde.  "She  would 
have  ruined  us.  Order  the  carriage,  and  I  will  go  to  a  jeweller 
at  once." 

"Yes,"  said  Macomer.  "You  are  very  wise.  I  thought 
there  was  going  to  be  trouble.  It  was  clever  of  you  to  restore 


148  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

her  confidence  by  offering  her  more.  But — "  he  lowered  his 
voice — "  something  must  be  done  at  once." 

"Yes,"  answered  Matilde,  looking  behind  her.  "  It  shall  be 
done  at  once." 

He  went  out  half  an  hour  later,  and  before  four  o'clock 
Veronica  despatched  Elettra  to  Don  Teodoro  with  three 
thousand  francs  in  bank  notes.  But  the  diamonds  which 
Matilde  had  left  at  the  jeweller's  were  worth  far  more  than 
that,  and  she  had  got  more  than  that  for  them. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

VERONICA  was  well  satisfied,  and  slept  peacefully,  dreaming 
of  the  pleasure  she  had  given  the  old  priest,  and  of  the  good 
which  he  could  do  with  her  money.  And  then  in  her  dream, 
the  scene  of  his  first  visit  was  acted  over,  and  suddenly  Veronica 
started  up  awake  in  the  dark.  She  must  have  uttered  an  un 
conscious  exclamation,  just  as  she  awoke,  for  in  a  moment  the 
door  opened  and  she  heard  Elettra's  voice  asking  her  if  she 
needed  anything,  but  in  a  tone  so  anxious  and  changed  that  it 
seemed  to  Veronica  to  belong  to  her  dream  rather  than  to  any 
reality. 

"  Are  you  there  ?  "  she  asked,  in  the  darkness,  surprised  that 
the  woman  should  have  come  in  so  unexpectedly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Elettra,  briefly,  and  she  groped  for  the 
matches  on  the  little  table  beside  the  bed. 

She  struck  a  light  and  lit  a  candle.  Veronica  saw  that  her 
face  was  very  pale,  and  that  she  was  half  dressed,  wearing  a 
black  skirt  and  a  white  cotton  jacket.  As  the  young  girl 
looked  at  her  she  realized  how  strange  it  was  that  she  should 
have  appeared  at  the  slightest  sound. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  little  smile. 
"  What  time  is  it  ?  "  She  looked  at  the  watch,  holding  it  up  to 
the  flame  of  the  candle.  "  Three  o'clock  !  What  is  the  matter, 
Elettra  ?  Why  have  you  come  ?  " 

Elettra  looked  down,  in  real  or  pretended  confusion. 

"  Excellency,"  she  said,  in  a  humble  tone,  "  my  room  is  very 
cold  and  damp  in  this  rainy  weather.  For  some  nights  I  have 
slept  on  the  sofa  in  the  dressing-room.  I  hope  your  Excellency 


Kill  TAQUISARA  149 

will  pardon  me.  And  I  heard  you  cry  out,  just  now.  Then, 
forgetting  that  I  ought  not  to  have  been  sleeping  there,  I  got 
up  and  came." 

"Oh  !  Did  I  cry  out?  Yes — I  woke  up  suddenly.  I  was 
dreaming  of  Don  Teodoro  and  of — "  She  checked  herself. 
"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  your  room  is  damp  ?  You  shall 
have  another." 

"  Excellency,  if  you  will  forgive  me,  it  would  give  trouble  at 
this  time.  If  you  will  allow  me  to  sleep  on  the  sofa  until  the 
weather  is  fine  again.  I  will  make  no  noise.  You  have  seen — 
in  the  morning  no  one  would  know  it,  and  I  am  very  well 
there." 

Veronica  looked  at  her  and  hesitated  a  moment.  In  the 
stillness  she  heard  a  soft  sound. 

"What  is  that?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

"  It  is  the  cat,"  answered  the  maid,  peering  down  below  the 
level  of  the  candle-light. 

"  It  did  not  sound  like  the  cat,"  said  Veronica,  pushing  her 
dark,  brown  hair  back  with  her  slim  hand,  and  looking  down 
over  the  edge  of  the  bed.  "  It  was  more  like  a  footstep,"  she 
added,  with  a  little  laugh. 

But  at  that  moment  she  caught  sight  of  the  Maltese  cat's 
green  eyes  in  shadow.  The  creature  came  forward  from  the 
door,  sprang  instantly  upon  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  lay  down, 
purring,  its  forepaws  doubled  under  it,  and  its  eyes  shut. 

"  It  is  a  heavy  cat,"  said  Elettra,  thoughtfully.  "  It  is  so  fat. 
One  can  hear  it  when  it  walks  across  the  room." 

She  scratched  its  head  gently,  and  it  purred  more  loudly 
under  her  hand. 

"  Excellency,  you  will  allow  me  to  sleep  in  the  dressing-room, 
just  for  these  days,"  she  said,  presently. 

"  Oh  yes — if  you  like,"  answered  Veronica,  laying  her  head 
down  upon  the  pillow,  sleepy  again. 

The  maid  bent  over  her  and  drew  the  things  up  about  her 
neck  in  a  half-tender,  motherly  way,  looking  at  the  girl's  face. 
Then  she  hesitated  before  putting  out  the  light. 

"  Excellency,"  she  said,  "  let  us  go  to  Muro.  The  air  of  this 
house  is  not  good  for  you.  It  is  damp,  and  you  are  pale  in 
these  days.  In  the  mountains  the  colour  will  come  back.  The 
people  will  make  a  feast  when  you  come.  It  will  amuse  you. 
Excellency,  let  us  go." 

Veronica  laughed  sleepily. 


150  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"You  are  dreaming,  Elettra.  Go  away.  I  want  to  go  to 
sleep." 

The  woman  sighed  softly,  extinguished  the  light,  and  groped 
her  way  to  the  door  in  the  dark.  Veronica  was  very  sleepy,  as 
she  said,  but  somehow  after  her  maid  had  gone  away,  she 
became  wakeful  again  for  a  time.  The  cat  had  remained  on 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  its  soft  purring  disturbed  her  a  little, 
because  she  was  accustomed  to  absolute  silence.  There  had 
been  a  curious  cross-fitting  of  her  dream  and  of  the  little 
realities  of  Elettra's  entrance.  She  had  dreamt  over  again  the 
priest's  earnest  warning  that  her  life  was  in  danger,  and  she 
had  imagined  that  she  heard  a  footstep  of  a  person  coming  up 
quickly  behind  her.  Then,  somehow,  in  the  same  instant, 
recalling  what  Don  Teodoro  had  told  her  about  her  uncle's 
frauds,  she  had  seemed  to  know  that  he  had  refused  the  money 
in  the  afternoon  because  there  was  no  more  to  take,  nor  to  be 
given  to  her.  Waking  suddenly,  she  had  heard  Elettra's  anxious 
voice,  giving  the  strong  impression  that  she  was  really  in  present 
peril.  Then  she  had  really  thought  that  she  heard  another 
footstep,  somewhere,  while  Elettra  was  standing  still  beside  her. 
It  had  only  been  the  cat,  of  course.  It  was  such  a  very  fat  cat, 
as  Elettra  said,  and  the  floors  were  of  the  old-fashioned  sort, 
laid  on  wooden  beams,  and  trembled  very  easily,  as  they  do  in 
old  Italian  houses.  But  each  detail  had  fitted  with  another, 
into  a  sort  of  whole  which  was  a  reflexion  of  the  priest's  story. 
Some  of  it  all  at  once  looked  true,  and  instead  of  going  to 
sleep  at  once,  Veronica's  eyes  were  wide  open,  and  she  turned 
uneasily  on  her  pillow. 

Of  course,  it  was  absurd,  for  she  had  received  the  money 
when  she  had  insisted  upon  having  it,  and  if  Elettra's  room  was 
damp,  that  quite  explained  her  presence.  Besides,  Elettra 
could  not  be  supposed  to  know  what  Don  Teodoro  had  said  to 
Veronica.  And  then,  there  was  the  rest  of  the  story,  all  that 
connected  Bosio  and  Matilde.  She  absolutely  refused  to  think 
of  believing  that.  She  would  not  even  admit  that  there  might 
have  been  some  little  foundation  for  it  in  the  past. 

Instinctively  driving  away  the  thought,  she  began  to  say 
certain  prayers  for  the  poor  man,  and  little  by  little,  repeating 
the  words  often,  her  mind  grew  calm,  and  she  fell  asleep  once 
more.  Yet  in  her  sleep  the  needle  of  doubt  ran  through  the 
little  bits  of  memories,  one  by  one,  threading  them  in  one  con 
tinuous  string.  There  was  Bianca  Corleone's  look  of  blank 


xin  TAQUISARA  151 

surprise  when  Veronica  had  first  spoken  of  a  possible  marriage 
with  Bosio,  and  there  was  Taquisara's  bold  assertion,  tallying 
with  the  priest's,  that  the  Macomer  wanted  her  fortune,  and 
there  was  very  vividly  before  her  the  gnawing  anxiety  she  had 
seen  in  Matilde's  face  until  the  latter  had  caught  sight  of  the 
artificial  flower  on  that  memorable  evening.  And  the  string 
on  which  the  beads  of  memory  were  threaded  was  her  long- 
repressed  but  profound  distrust  of  Gregorio  Macomer.  It  had 
seemed  a  wicked  prejudice,  a  gratuitously  false  judgment,  based 
upon  something  in  his  face,  and  she  had  always  fought  against 
it  as  unworthy,  besides  being  irrational.  Then,  too,  there  was 
the  will  she  had  signed  a  fortnight  since,  for  the  sake  of  peace. 
If  there  was  nothing  in  what  the  priest  had  said,  why  had  they 
been  so  terribly  anxious  to  get  the  document  executed  without 
delay?  It  was  scarcely  natural.  And  there  were  fifty  other 
details,  turns  of  phrases,  changes  of  expression,  little  words  of 
Gregorio's  spoken  in  an  enigmatic  tone  to  his  wife,  which  Vero 
nica  had  not  understood,  but  which  she  had  therefore  remem 
bered,  and  which  could  mean  that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  ruin, 
and  in  great  trouble  of  mind  about  his  affairs.  Amidst  the 
wildly  shifting  scenery  of  dreams,  the  little  doll  figures  of  abiding 
facts  out  of  memory  joined  hands  in  procession,  showing  their 
faces  one  by  one  and  their  likeness  to  one  another  more  and 
more  clearly.  Even  in  her  dream,  it  flashed  upon  her  that  it 
might  all  be  true  except  that  one  part  of  it  which  said  that  Bosio 
had  loved  Matilde  and  not  herself.  That  was  not  true.  He  had 
loved  her,  Veronica ;  they  had  known  it,  and  had  taken  advan 
tage  of  it.  She  did  not  blame  them  for  that.  She  had  been  so 
fond  of  him, — she  knew  that  she  should  soon  have  loved  him, 
— and  the  dream  swung  back  upon  itself,  and  she  was  again 
standing  beside  the  fire  in  the  yellow  room,  with  him  so  near 
to  her.  And  after  she  awoke,  she  shed  tears. 

On  that  morning,  after  eleven  o'clock,  Matilde  came  to 
Veronica's  room,  bringing  a  piece  of  needlework  with  her,  and 
she  sat  down  to  stay  awhile.  They  talked  idly  about  dull  subjects, 
and  from  time  to  time  Matilde  looked  up  and  smiled  sadly. 
She  sat  so  that  she  could  not  see  Bosio's  photograph  on  the 
mantelpiece.  After  she  had  been  there  half  an  hour,  she 
started,  suddenly  remembering  something. 

"  I  have  done  such  a  stupid  thing ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  an 
expression  of  annoyance.  "  I  believe  I  am  losing  my  memory !' 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Veronica,  naturally. 


152  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"I  sent  my  maid  out,  just  before  I  came  to  you,  with  a 
number  of  errands  to  do,  and  I  forgot  two  things  that  I  wanted 
very  much.  There  was  some  medicine  which  I  was  to  take 
before  luncheon,  and  some  jet  beads  that  I  needed.  I  do  not 
care  so  much  about  the  beads,  but  I  need  the  medicine.  I 
feel  so  horribly  tired  and  weak,  all  the  time." 

"  Send  one  of  the  men,"  suggested  Veronica. 

"A  man  could  not  buy  jet  things,"  objected  Matilde.  "You 
could  not  let  Elettra  go  out  for  me,  could  you  ?  It  is  a  fine 
morning,  for  a  wonder,  and  she  need  not  be  gone  more  than 
half  an  hour." 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Veronica,  promptly.  "  She  has  noth 
ing  to  do,  and  the  walk  will  be  good  for  her." 

She  rose  and  rang  for  her  maid. 

"  I  will  go  and  get  the  recipe,"  said  Matilde,  rising,  too.  "  It 
is  an  old  one,  given  me  by  our  poor  doctor  who  died  last  year, 
and  I  kept  it  because  it  did  me  so  much  good.  They  will 
make  it  up  in  ten  minutes.  She  can  go  and  buy  the  jet,  and 
stop  for  it  on  the  way  back.  Will  you  tell  her  that  she  may  go  ?  " 

Elettra  had  entered  the  room,  and  Veronica  explained  to  her 
what  she  was  to  do. 

"Put  on  your  hat,  Elettra,"  said  Matilde,  "and  then  please 
come  to  my  room,  and  I  will  give  you  the  recipe.  I  must  find 
it  among  my  things.  I  will  be  back  presently,  dear,"  she  said 
to  Veronica. 

She  went  out,  followed  by  the  maid,  who  did  as  she  was 
bidden,  and  then  went  to  Matilde's  room.  The  countess  ex 
plained  exactly  what  sort  of  jet  she  wanted,  and  then  gave  her 
the  recipe. 

"  Tell  the  chemist  that  this  is  only  for  two  doses,"  she  said, 
"but  that  I  wish  him  to  make  up  twenty  doses,  because  I 
am  going  to  take  it  regularly.  Say  that  it  is  for  me,  and  go 
to  Casadio  for  it,  where  we  get  everything.  Have  it  put  down 
on  the  bill.  Do  you  understand  ?  Here  are  twenty  francs  for 
the  jet,  but  you  will  not  need  so  much.  You  understand,  do 
you  ?  " 

"Yes,  Excellency." 

Elettra  stuck  the  little  slip  of  paper,  on  which  the  recipe  was 
written,  into  her  shabby  pocketbook  without  looking  at  it.  She 
could  read  and  write  fairly  well,  and  had  been  used  to  helping 
her  husband  the  under-steward  with  his  accounts  at  Muro,  but 
even  if  she  had  looked  at  the  recipe  she  would  have  understood 


xm  TAQUISARA  153 

nothing  of  the  doctor's  hieroglyphics  and  abbreviated  Latin 
words.  The  prescription  was  for  a  preparation  of  arsenic, 
which  Matilde  had  formerly  taken  for  some  time.  The  chemist 
would  not  make  any  difficulty  about  preparing  twenty  doses  of 
it  for  the  Countess  Macomer,  though  the  whole  quantity  of 
arsenic  contained  in  so  many  would  probably  be  sufficient  to 
kill  one  not  accustomed  to  the  medicine,  if  taken  all  at  once. 

But  though  Matilde  was  so  anxious  to  have  the  stuff  before 
luncheon,  she  had  a  number  of  doses  of  it  put  away  in  a  drawer, 
which  she  took  out  and  counted,  after  Elettra  had  gone.  She 
opened  one  of  the  little  folded  papers  and  looked  at  the  fine 
white  powder  it  contained,  took  a  little  on  the  end  of  her  finger 
and  tasted  it.  Then,  from  the  same  drawer,  she  took  a  package 
done  up  in  coarser  paper,  and  opened  it  likewise,  looked  at 
it,  smelt  it,  and  touched  it  with  the  tip  of  her  tongue  very 
cautiously  indeed.  It  was  white,  too,  but  coarser  than  the 
medicine.  She  was  very  careful  in  tasting  it,  and  she  im 
mediately  rinsed  her  mouth  with  water,  before  she  tied  up  the 
package  again,  shut  the  drawer,  and  put  the  key  into  her 
pocket. 

By  and  by  Elettra  came  back  and  brought  her  the  jet  and 
the  medicine,  returning  her  the  change  without  any  remark. 
Matilde  thanked  her,  and  laid  the  package  of  twenty  doses 
upon  her  dressing-table,  before  the  mirror. 

At  luncheon,  she  persuaded  Veronica  to  go  out  with  her  for 
a  drive  in  the  afternoon.  She  said  that  she  felt  ill  and  tired, 
and  did  not  like  to  go  alone.  Gregorio  said  that  he  was  too 
busy  to  accompany  her,  and  it  would  not  have  been  easy  for 
Veronica  to  refuse.  While  it  was  still  early,  they  drove  out, 
past  Bianca  Corleone's  house,  over  the  hill,  and  down  to 
Posilippo,  on  the  other  side.  They  talked  very  little,  but 
Veronica  enjoyed  the  bright  afternoon  air,  after  the  long  spell 
of  bad  weather.  There  was  no  dust,  for  the  road  was  not  yet 
dry,  and  a  gentle  land  breeze  just  roughed  the  surface  of  the 
calm  sea  to  a  deeper  blue.  When  they  turned  to  drive  home, 
there  was  already  a  purple  mist  about  Vesuvius,  and  the  great 
Sant'  Angelo's  crest  was  black  against  the  sky,  for  these  were 
the  shortest  days,  and  the  sun  set  far  to  southward.  It  was 
almost  dark  when  they  got  back  to  the  city. 

"  Shall  we  have  tea  in  your  room  ? "  asked  Matilde,  as  they 
went  up  the  stairs  together.  "  It  is  so  dreary  in  the  drawing- 


154  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Veronica,  readily.  "  Yes — the  rest  of 
the  house  is  horribly  gloomy,  now." 

Matilde  was  behind  her  on  the  stairs,  evidently  fatigued,  but 
as  the  young  girl  spoke,  a  look  of  detestation  flashed  across  her 
worn  face.  She  hated  Veronica,  now  that  Bosio  was  dead. 
But  for  Veronica,  Bosio  would  still  have  been  alive.  There  was 
more  than  the  mere  desperate  determination  to  save  herself,  and 
her  husband  with  her,  in  what  Matilde  did  after  that.  But  when 
they  entered  the  hall,  the  look  was  quite  gone  from  her  face. 
She  had  been  very  gentle,  all  that  morning  and  afternoon. 
They  had  talked  a  little  of  the  incident  that  had  occurred  on 
the  previous  day,  of  Gregorio's  feeling  about  not  letting  Veronica 
spend  money  uselessly.  He  was  so  conscientious,  Matilde  had 
said.  Though  the  guardianship  had  expired,  he  still  felt  it  his 
duty  to  watch  his  former  ward's  expenditure.  And  he  was 
not  charitable — no,  it  had  always  been  a  cause  of  regret  to 
Matilde  that  Gregorio,  with  all  his  good  qualities,  was  hard  to 
poor  people.  Bosio  had  been  different.  Ah — poor  Bosio  ! 

She  spoke  gently,  and  sometimes  there  was  a  true  ring  in 
her  voice  which  Veronica  heard  and  understoodj  for  it  was 
quite  genuine.  And  now,  she  seemed  tired  and  weak — she 
who  was  so  strong. 

So  they  went  to  Veronica's  room,  and  Elettra  brought  the 
tea  things,  and  Matilde  made  tea,  and  they  both  drank  it,  and 
talked  a  little  more,  and  gave  the  Maltese  cat  milk  in  a  saucer, 
on  the  lower  shelf  of  the  little  two-storied  tea-table. 

Afterwards,  Matilde  went  away  to  her  room,  and  Veronica 
remained  alone  after  Elettra  had  taken  away  the  things. 

Before  dinner,  Elettra  came  and  told  her  mistress  that  the 
countess  was  suddenly  taken  very  ill,  and  was  crying  aloud 
with  the  pain  she  suffered.  Veronica  hastily  went  to  her  aunt, 
and  found  that  a  doctor  had  already  come  and  was  making  her 
swallow  olive  oil  out  of  a  full  tumbler.  A  servant  followed 
her  into  the  room  with  a  plate  full  of  raw  eggs,  and  the  doctor 
was  asking  for  magnesia.  Gregorio  Macomer  was  standing  by, 
shaking  his  head,  and  occasionally  supporting  his  wife  with  one 
hand,  when  her  strength  seemed  to  be  failing.  Veronica  took 
the  other  side,  and  the  doctor  stood  before  the  sick  woman. 

"What  is  it,  Doctor?"  asked  Veronica,  after  a  moment. 
"  What  is  the  matter  with  her  ?  " 

The  physician  looked  over  his  shoulder  and  saw  that  there 
was  no  servant  in  the  room.  "  It  is  arsenic,"  he  answered,  in 


XIII  TAQUISARA  155 

a  low  voice.  "She  has  been  poisoned.  But  there  was  not 
enough  to  kill  her — she  will  be  quite  well  to-morrow. 

"  Poisoned  ! "  exclaimed  Veronica,  in  horrified  surprise.  "  By 
whom  ?  "  She  looked  at  Gregorio,  addressing  the  question  to 
him. 

He  gravely  raised  his  high  shoulders,  and  shook  his  head. 
Veronica  expected  to  hear  his  awful  laugh ;  but  though  his 
face  twitched  nervously,  it  did  not  come.  He  knew  that  the 
doctor  might  afterwards  be  an  excellent  witness  to  his  peculiari 
ties,  in  case  he  wished  to  prove  himself  insane ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  he  shown  any  signs  of  insanity  now,  the 
doctor  might  have  suspected  him  of  having  poisoned  his  wife. 
That  would  have  been  very  unfortunate. 

As  the  physician  had  foreseen,  Matilde  was  soon  better,  and 
by  bed-time  she  felt  no  ill  effects  from  what  had  happened  to 
her,  beyond  great  weakness  and  lassitude.  The  doctor  had 
asked  many  questions  and  had  elicited  the  fact  that  Matilde 
had  a  preparation  of  arsenic  in  powders,  which  she  took 
according  to  prescription,  and  which  she  showed  him  after  the 
first  spasms  were  passed.  She  assured  him,  however,  that  she 
had  only  taken  one  on  that  day,  and  had  taken  it  just  before 
luncheon.  The  rest  of  the  powders  were  intact  and  still  lay 
upon  her  toilet  table.  She  showed  them  also.  He  took  the 
next  one,  on  the  top  of  the  pile,  and  said  that  he  would 
examine  it,  and  ascertain  whether  the  chemist  had  made  any 
mistake.  Then  he  went  away,  promising  to  come  in  the 
morning. 

At  last  Matilde  was  alone  with  her  husband.  Veronica  had 
gone  to  bed,  and  Gregorio  waited  for  an  opportunity  of  ques 
tioning  his  wife. 

"Whom  do  you  suspect?"  he  asked,  sitting  down  by  her 
bedside. 

"No  one,"  she  answered.  "I  took  it  on  purpose.  You 
need  not  be  anxious.  I  pretended  to  suffer  more  than  I  did, 
and  I  do  not  mind  the  pain  at  all." 

He  stared  at  her,  trying  to  fathom  her  thoughts,  but  he 
altogether  failed  to  understand  her. 

"  Why  did  you  do  it  ? "  he  asked,  drawing  the  lids  close 
together  over  his  small  eyes. 

"  You  are  so  dull ! "  she  answered.  "  You  shall  see.  I  can 
not  explain  now.  I  have  been  really  poisoned  and  I  feel  ill 
and  weak.  Do  not  go  out  to-morrow  before  I  see  you. 


156  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

He  left  her,  but  she  did  not  sleep  all  night.  In  spite  of 
what  she  had  gone  through  on  that  evening  and  of  all  the 
mental  suffering  of  many  days,  she  was  stronger  still  than  any 
one  knew.  It  was  between  two  and  three  in  the  morning  when 
she  lighted  a  candle,  wrapped  herself  in  a  dressing-gown,  and 
began  to  make  certain  preparations  for  the  day. 

In  the  first  place  she  locked  both  her  doors  very  softly,  and 
arranged  a  stocking  over  each  keyhole,  twisting  it  round  the 
keys  themselves.  Then  she  got  some  stiff  writing-paper,  and 
a  heavy  ivory  paper-knife,  and  from  the  locked  drawers  she 
took  that  other  package  which  was  done  up  in  coarse  paper. 

From  this  she  took  some  of  the  rough,  half-pulverized  white 
stuff,  laid  it  upon  the  marble  top  of  the  chest  of  drawers,  and 
with  the  ivory  paper-knife,  pressing  heavily,  she  little  by  little 
crushed  it  as  fine  as  dust. 

She  then  took  nine  of  the  eighteen  little  papers  containing 
the  arsenic,  which  were  left,  opened  each  one  at  the  end  and 
poured  out  the  contents  apart,  into  a  little  heap  quite  separate 
from  the  other.  And  of  the  other,  she  took  a  pinch  for 
each  little  paper  and  dropped  it  in — about  as  much  in  quantity 
as  she  had  taken  out.  Then  she  closed  each  of  the  papers, 
carefully  slipping  one  folded  end  into  the  other  as  chemists 
do ;  when  they  were  all  closed,  she  made  a  tiny  hole  in  each 
with  the  point  of  a  needle,  so  that  she  should  know  the  bad 
from  the  good,  if  necessary.  This  was  only  a  precaution,  and 
could  do  no  harm.  Then  she  arranged  the  good  and  the  bad 
in  their  little  packages  of  five,  each  in  a  tiny  india-rubber 
band,  laying  bad  ones  and  good  ones  alternately.  When  this 
was  done,  she  put  all  the  packages  into  the  original  paper, 
loosely  opened,  and  laid  them  once  more  before  her  looking- 
glass,  upon  the  toilet  table.  Her  'large  white  hands  were 
exceedingly  skilful,  and  it  would  have  needed  sharp  eyes  to  see 
that  the  papers  of  medicine  had  been  tampered  with. 

After  this,  she  cut  a  sheet  of  the  writing-paper  into  four 
square  pieces,  and  very  neatly  made  out  of  three  of  them  three 
very  small  open  boxes,  for  moulds,  each  of  the  size  of  a  large 
lump  of  sugar,  and  she  set  them  up  side  by  side  in  a  row.  One 
was  larger  than  the  other  two. 

They  had  brought  her  powdered  sugar,  with  the  juice  of  a 
lemon  in  a  glass  and  a  dec?nter  of  water;  she  had  said  that  if 
she  were  thirsty  she  would  make  herself  a  glass  of  lemonade  in 
the  night.  She  had  also  a  bottle  of  ordinary  sticking  gum. 


Xin  TAQUISARA  157 

She  took  the  sugar  and  mixed  a  very  little  with  some  of  the 
stuff  she  had  pulverized,  and  with  a  few  drops  of  the  gum,  till  it 
was  a  stiff,  hard  paste,  and  with  the  end  of  the  paper-knife  she 
carefully  filled  the  largest  of  her  three  moulds  with  it.  She 
was  sure  that  it  would  be  dry  and  hard  by  the  next  day,  and 
it  would  have  the  size,  the  appearance,  and  somewhat  the  taste 
of  a  lump  of  sugar. 

Then  she  halved  the  little  heap  of  arsenic  medicine  as  exactly 
as  she  could.  There  were  nine  powders  in  all.  To  produce 
the  symptoms  of  poisoning  in  herself,  she  had  taken  four  from 
her  old  supply,  that  evening.  Half  of  nine  would  be  four  and 
a  half,  and  that  would  not  be  too  much.  She  mixed  enough 
wet  sugar  and  gum  with  each  little  pile  to  fill  one  of  each  of  the 
smaller  moulds,  pressing  the  sticky  mass  firmly  into  the  paper. 

When  all  was  finished,  she  carefully  cleaned  the  marble  top 
of  the  chest  of  drawers,  and  threw  what  little  of  the  coarser 
powder  remained  into  the  ashes  of  the  fire,  in  which  a  few 
coals  still  glowed.  The  heat  would  consume  the  powder  im 
mediately. 

Having  done  this,  she  set  the  three  little  moulds  on  the  warm 
marble  hearthstone  to  dry,  took  the  remainder  of  the  package 
of  coarser  powder,  twisted  the  stiff  paper  closely,  so  that  it 
should  not  open,  took  the  stockings  from  the  keyholes,  and, 
candle  in  hand,  left  the  room,  locking  the  door  softly  behind 
her.  She  made  no  noise  as  she  traversed  the  dim  rooms,  in 
her  felt  slippers ;  but  she  avoided  the  yellow  drawing-room  and 
passed  through  a  passage  behind  it.  Her  nerves  were  singularly 
good,  but  since  Bosio's  death  she  did  not  like  to  be  alone  in 
that  room  at  night.  Bosio  had  been  fond  of  dabbling  in  spiritism 
and  such  things,  and  they  had  often  talked  about  the  possibility 
of  coming  back  after  death,  in  that  very  room,  promising  each 
other  that,  if  it  were  possible,  the  one  who  died  first  would  try 
to  communicate  with  the  other.  Matilde  turned  aside  from  the 
room  in  which  they  had  said  those  things  to  each  other. 

She  walked  more  and  more  cautiously  as  she  came  to  the 
other  end  of  the  long  apartment,  where  Veronica  lived,  and  she 
stopped  in  a  dark  corridor  before  the  door  of  Elettra's  room. 
It  was  not  ajar  this  time,  but  closed.  Matilde  did  not  hesitate, 
and  began  to  turn  the  handle  very  slowly.  Then  she  pushed 
the  door  and  looked  in,  shading  her  candle  with  her  hand,  from 
her  eyes,  so  as  to  look  over  it.  She  had  determined,  if  she 
found  the  woman  in  bed,  to  wake  her  boldly,  to  say  that  she 


158  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

felt  ill  again,  and  to  tell  her  to  go  and  heat  some  water.  That 
would  have  taken  some  time.  But  Elettra  was  not  there,  and 
the  bed,  as  usual  of  late,  was  untouched. 

Matilde  looked  about  her  hastily,  at  the  same  time  extracting 
the  package  from  the  wide  pocket  of  her  dressing-gown.  The 
furniture  was  scant  and  simple — the  bed,  a  table  covered  with 
things  belonging  to  Veronica,  beside  which  lay  sewing-materials, 
two  chairs,  a  shabby  chest  of  drawers,  a  deal  washstand — that 
was  all.  Italian  servants  are  not  accustomed  to  very  luxurious 
quarters.  A  couple  of  coarse,  uncoloured  prints  of  saints  were 
tacked  to  the  wall  over  the  bed,  and  a  bit  of  a  dusty  olive  branch, 
from  the  last  Palm  Sunday,  nine  months  ago,  was  stuck  behind 
one  of  them. 

Matilde  looked  about  her,  and  hesitated  a  moment.  Then, 
setting  the  candlestick  down,  she  knelt  upon  the  floor,  and 
thrust  the  package  as  far  as  she  could  under  the  chest  of 
drawers.  Of  all  the  things  she  had  to  do,  in  the  course  of  that 
night  and  the  following  day,  this  was  the  only  one  with  which 
any  danger  was  connected,  for  at  any  moment  Elettra  might 
have  come  from  Veronica's  room  to  her  own.  The  thing  was 
possible,  but  not  probable,  between  three  and  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  It  did  not  happen,  and  when  Matilde  left  the 
room  and  softly  closed  the  door  behind  her,  all  was  safe. 

Before  she  went  to  bed,  she  entered  the  dining-room,  poured 
herself  out  a  glass  of  strong  Sicilian  wine  from  a  decanter  on 
the  sideboard  and  drank  it  at  a  draught,  for  she  was  very  tired. 
She  left  the  decanter  and  the  glass  on  the  table,  so  that  any 
one  might  see  them.  If  by  any  remote  possibility  some  wakeful 
person  had  chanced  to  hear  her  moving  about  in  the  night,  she 
would  say  that  she  had  felt  ill,  and  had  left  her  room  in  order 
to  find  the  stimulant.  She  thought  of  every  possible  detail 
which  could  in  any  way  hereafter  be  brought  up  in  evidence. 

At  last  she  went  back  to  her  room,  unlocked  the  door,  and 
locked  herself  in. 

Her  plan  was  simple,  though  the  details  of  it  were  compli 
cated,  so  far  as  the  preparation  was  concerned.  It  was  an 
extremely  bold  plan,  but  one  not  at  all  likely  to  fail  in  the 
execution.  Almost  all  the  difficulty  had  lain  in  the  preparations, 
and  she  had  spared  no  pains  and  no  suffering  for  herself,  in  the 
preliminaries. 

She  knew  the  story  of  Elettra's  husband  very  well,  and  of  how 
he  had  been  murdered  by  peasants  near  Muro  in  trying  to 


xin  TAQUISARA  159 

collect  the  exorbitant  rents  Macomer  had  attempted  to  exact. 
She  was  a  good  enough  judge  of  character  to  see  that  Elettra 
had  the  revengeful  disposition  common  to  many  of  the  southern 
hill  people,  and  the  woman's  dark  complexion,  sombre  eyes,  and 
thin  frame  would  all  help  to  strengthen  the  impression  in  the 
mind  of  an  unprejudiced  judge. 

She  intended  to  make  it  appear  that  Elettra  had  poisoned 
the  whole  family,  beginning  with  Matilde  herself,  out  of  revenge 
for  her  dead  husband.  Veronica  was  to  die,  but  Gregorio  and 
Matilde  herself  would  only  suffer  a  certain  amount  of  pain  for 
a  few  hours,  and  then  recover.  She  had  begun  by  half  poison 
ing  herself,  both  to  remove  all  suspicion,  and  as  a  sort  of 
experiment,  to  be  sure  that  she  was  giving  herself  and  her 
husband  a  sufficient  amount  to  produce  the  real  symptoms 
of  poisoning  by  arsenic.  No  half  measures,  no  mere  acting, 
would  be  of  any  avail. 

The  stuff  in  the  package  wrapped  in  coarse  paper  was  an 
almost  pure  salt  of  arsenic,  sold  by  grocers  as  rat-poison. 

The  two  small  lumps  of  sugar  and  arsenic  medicine  were 
for  herself  and  her  husband;  the  large  lump  of  almost  pure 
poison  was  for  Veronica. 

In  the  examination  which  would  follow  upon  the  deed,  the 
package  of  rat-poison  would  be  found  under  the  chest  of 
drawers  in  the  maid's  room,  half  empty.  It  would  be  dis 
covered  that  every  alternate  paper  of  Matilde's  medicine  had 
been  tampered  with,  and  it  would  be  supposed  that  Matilde 
had  at  the  first  time  taken  one  of  those  containing  poison, 
whereas  the  doctor  who  had  attended  her  had  taken  the  next, 
which  was  untouched  and  only  had  medicine  in  it. 

She  intended  to  make  tea  on  the  following  afternoon  in 
Veronica's  room.  She  could  easily  find  an  excuse  for  bringing 
in  Gregorio,  who,  like  many  modern  Italians,  had  acquired 
the  habit  of  drinking  tea  every  day.  She  herself  would  make 
the  tea,  and  put  in  the  sugar  and  cream.  Elettra  would,  as 
usual,  have  brought  in  the  tea-tray  with  the  silver  urn,  for 
Veronica  always  preferred  being  served  by  her  maid  when  she 
had  anything  in  her  own  room.  It  would  go  hard,  if  Matilde 
could  not  divert  Veronica's  attention  for  one  moment  while 
she  dropped  the  lumps  into  the  cups,  having  concealed  them 
in  her  handkerchief  beforehand.  There  would  be  no  servant 
in  the  room,  for  Elettra  would  have  gone  out.  Gregorio  would 
know  beforehand  what  was  to  be  done,  and  would  help  to  divert 


160  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Veronica  at  the  right  moment.  Arsenic  had  little  or  no  taste, 
and  Veronica  would  drink  her  cup  readily  like  the  rest. 

She  would  die  before  the  next  morning.  That  was  certain. 
Everything  would  tend  to  throw  the  suspicion  of  having  at 
tempted  to  commit  a  horrible  wholesale  murder,  upon  Elettra. 
The  will  could  be  kept  back  until  the  first  uproar  and  excite 
ment  should  be  over.  Then  Matilde  would  have  the  fortune, 
Gregorio  would  be  saved,  and  Elettra  would  be  condemned  to 
penal  servitude  for  life. 

It  was  certainly  a  very  bold  plan,  and  Matilde  did  not  see 
where  it  could  fail. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MATILDE  received  on  the  following  morning  a  curious  letter 
which  surprised  and  startled  her.  She  had  risen  at  last,  grey 
and  weary  of  face,  with  heavy  eyes  and  drawn  lips,  to  face 
the  deed  she  meant  to  do.  The  sky  was  overcast,  but  it  was 
not  raining  yet,  though  it  soon  would.  She  had  risen  before 
ringing  for  her  maid,  and  had  carefully  removed  the  paper 
from  the  three  little  cakes  of  white  stuff  which  she  had  made. 
It  had  to  be  done  cleverly,  for  the  smaller  ones  seemed  likely 
to  crumble ;  but  the  large  one  was  quite  consistent.  She  had 
hidden  them  all  in  the  drawer  she  kept  locked ;  then  she  had 
unfastened  her  door  and  had  rung  the  bell.  It  was  past  nine 
o'clock,  and  her  maid  had  brought  her  a  letter  with  her  coffee, 

It  was  very  short,  but  the  few  words  it  contained  were  exceed 
ingly  disquieting.  It  was  accompanied  by  a  card  on  which 
Matilde  read  '  Giuditta  Astarita,  Sonnambula,'  and  the  address 
was  below,  in  one  corner.  The  few  words  of  the  letter,  written 
in  a  subtle,  sloping,  feminine  handwriting,  correctly  spelt  and 
grammatically  well  expressed,  ran  as  follows : — 

"  The  spirit  of  B.  M.  wishes  to  make  you  an  important  com 
munication  and  torments  me  continually.  I  pray  you  to  come 
to  me  soon,  on  any  day  between  ten  and  three  o'clock.  In 
order  that  you  may  be  assured  that  it  is  really  the  spirit  of 
B.  M.,  and  not  a  deceiving  spirit,  I  am  to  remind  you  that  on 
the  evening  of  the  ninth  of  this  month,  when  you  and  he  were 
alone  together  in  a  room  which  is  all  yellow,  you  laid  your  hand 
upon  his  head  and  stroked  his  hair  and  said :  '  It  is  to  save  me.' 


xiv  TAQUISARA  161 

The  spirit  tells  me  that  you  will  remember  this  and  understand 
it,  and  know  that  he  is  not  a  deceiving  spirit." 

Matilde  read  the  short  letter  many  times  over,  and  her  hands 
trembled  when  she  at  last  folded  it  and  returned  it  to  its  en 
velope.  A  sensation  of  curiosity  and  of  ghastly  horror  ran 
through  her  hair,  more  than  once,  like  a  cool  breeze,  and  with 
it  came  the  infinite  desire  for  some  one  word  of  truth  out  of 
the  black  beyond,  from  the  one  being  whom  she  had  loved  so 
fiercely. 

But  in  such  things  she  was  sceptical,  and  she  sought  to  make 
some  theory  which  should  explain  the  writer  of  the  letter  into 
a  common  impostor.  She  could  find  none.  She  remembered 
the  act  and  the  words  that  had  gone  with  it.  Only  she  and 
Bosio  had  known,  and  he  was  dead — he  had  died  four-and- 
twenty  hours  after  she  had  touched  his  hair  and  had  said :  "  It 
is  to  save  me."  And  she  knew  him  well.  He  was  not,  under 
any  circumstances,  a  man  to  speak  of  such  things  to  a  third 
person.  Then,  how  did  this  Giuditta  Astarita  know  what 
Matilde  had  said  and  done?  It  was  not  natural,  and  not 
natural  meant  supernatural — supernatural  meant  the  possibility 
of  communication,  and  she  had  loved  the  dead  man  with  all 
her  big,  sinful  soul. 

It  would  be  long  before  the  time  came  for  the  deed,  in  the 
late  afternoon,  and  the  terrible  day  must  be  disposed  of  in  some 
way  or  other.  She  was  not  afraid  of  going  mad,  nor  of  losing 
her  nerve,  nor  of  making  a  mistake  at  the  last  moment,  but 
even  to  her  courage  and  strength  the  hours  before  her  were 
hours  of  fear. 

She  planned  her  day.  The  doctor  would  come,  in  the  first 
place,  at  about  ten  o'clock.  He  would  recommend  her  to  be 
quiet,  to  take  a  little  broth  for  luncheon,  and  a  little  more  broth 
for  dinner.  She  smiled  grimly,  as  she  thought  of  his  probable 
instructions,  and  she  knew  what  she  could  do  and  bear  at  pinch 
of  pressing  need.  He  would  also  tell  her  that  the  powder  con 
tained  only  just  the  right  quantity  of  medicine,  and  that  she 
must  have  been  poisoned  in  some  other  way.  She  knew  that. 

Afterwards,  Gregorio  would  need  his  instructions.  He  was 
to  be  at  home  in  the  afternoon,  and  to  come  and  drink  his  tea 
in  Veronica's  room  when  Matilde  sent  for  him.  Just  when 
Matilde  was  pouring  out  the  tea,  he  was  to  distract  Veronica's 
attention  from  the  tea-table  for  a  moment.  She  would  not  tell 
him  thai  she  intended  to  half  poison  him,  too,  for  he  was  a 

L 


162  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

coward,  and  at  the  last  minute,  dreading  pain,  he  would  not 
drink  from  his  cup.  She  knew  that  well  enough.  She  would 
tell  him  when  he  began  to  suffer  the  effects,  and  assure  him 
that  he  was  not  going  to  die.  Again  she  smiled  grimly,  and 
chancing  to  be  just  then  before  the  mirror,  she  saw  that  her 
face  had  all  at  once  grown  old  since  yesterday.  And  in  spite 
of  her  strength  of  body  and  will,  she  felt  weak  and  exhausted, 
and  hated  the  hours  that  were  to  be  between. 

But  when  she  had  spoken  to  Gregorio,  she  would  go  out 
alone,  on  foot.  And  she  knew  that  she  should  find  the  address 
given  on  Giuditta  Astarita's  card,  and  enter  the  house  and  see 
the  woman  who  had  written  to  her,  and  hear  the  message  that 
was  promised.  If  she  left  her  own  house,  her  feet  must  take 
her  that  way,  whether  she  would  or  not. 

And  so  it  all  happened  just  as  she  foresaw.  But  she  had  not 
known  that  in  threading  the  intricate,  dark  streets  she  would 
almost  forget  what  she  was  to  do  that  day,  in  the  mad  hope  of 
the  one  more  word  from  beyond.  She  had  not  known  that  at 
the  thought  her  eyes  would  brighten  eagerly,  the  colour  would 
come  back  to  her  cheeks,  and  the  strength  to  her  limbs  as  she 
walked.  After  all,  the  strongest  thing  that  had  ever  been  in 
her,  or  ever  could  be,  was  that  passionate,  dominating,  despotic 
devotion  to  one  being;  and  the  merest  suggestion  that  he 
might  not  be  gone  quite  beyond  the  reach  of  spiritual  touch 
had  power  to  veil  the  awful  future  of  the  day,  when  her  hand 
was  already  uplifted  to  kill.  She  was  not  a  woman  to  hesitate 
at  the  last  moment,  unstrung  and  womanishly  trembling  because 
the  victim  was  young,  and  smiled,  and  had  innocent  eyes.  And 
yet,  perhaps,  had  she  not  gone  that  day  to  answer  the  spirit- 
seer's  summons  and  to  catch  at  the  straw  thrown  to  her  from 
beyond  the  grave,  she  might  have  seen  a  reason  for  changing 
her  mind,  and  all  might  have  happened  very  differently.  But 
Fate  does  not  sleep,  though  she  seems  sometimes  to  nod  and 
forget  to  kill. 

Matilde  came  to  the  house  as  the  clock  struck  eleven,  and 
entered  by  the  dark,  arched  door,  and  went  up  the  damp,  stone 
steps,  as  Bosio  had  done  a  fortnight  earlier.  She  was  admitted 
by  the  decent  woman  whose  one  eye  was  of  a  china  blue,  and 
she  waited  for  Giuditta  in  the  same  small  sitting-room,  of  which 
the  one  heavily  curtained  window  looked  out  upon  an  inner 
court.  She  did  not  know  that  Bosio  had  ever  been  there,  but 
in  her  thoughts  of  him  she  felt  his  presence,  and  turned,  with 


XIV  TAQUISARA  163 

a  shiver  under  her  hair,  to  look  behind  her  as  she  stood  waiting 
before  the  window,  just  where  he  had  stood.  The  day  was 
dark,  and  the  room  was  all  dim  and  cold,  with  its  stiff,  ugly 
furniture  and  its  bare,  tiled  floor.  The  corners  were  shadowy, 
and  her  eyes  searched  in  them  uneasily,  and  she  would  not 
turn  her  back  upon  them  again  and  look  out  of  the  windows. 
Then  the  door  opened  noiselessly,  and  Giuditta  Astarita 
entered,  in  her  loose  black  silk  gown,  with  her  little  bunch 
of  charms  against  the  evil  eye,  hanging  by  a  chain  from  a 
button  hole. 

The  china  blue  eyes  looked  steadily  at  Matilde,  out  of  the 
unhealthy  face,  but  the  woman  gave  no  sign  to  show  that 
she  knew  who  her  visitor  was.  Her  hoarse  voice  pronounced 
the  usual  words  :  "  You  wish  to  consult  me  ?  " 

"  You  wrote  to  me.  I  am  the  Countess  Macomer,"  answered 
Matilde,  lifting  her  veil,  which  was  a  thick  one. 

The  expression  in  the  woman's  eyes  did  not  change,  but  she 
still  looked  steadily  at  Matilde  for  three  or  four  seconds. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  so.  I  am  glad  that  you  have 
come,  for  I  have  suffered  much  on  your  account." 

She  looked  as  though  she  were  suffering,  Matilde  thought. 
Then  she  placed  the  chairs,  made  the  countess  sit  down,  and 
drew  the  curtains,  just  as  she  had  done  for  Bosio. 

Then,  in  the  dark,  there  was  silence.  It  seemed  to  Matilde 
a  long  time,  and  she  grew  nervous,  and  moved  uneasily.  Then, 
without  warning,  she  heard  that  other  voice,  clear,  deep,  and 
bell-like,  which  Bosio  had  heard,  and  she  trembled. 

"  I  see  a  name  written  on  your  breast, — Bosio  Macomer." 

The  darkness,  the  voice,  the  shiver  of  anticipation,  unnerved 
the  strong  woman. 

"  What  does  he  say  to  me  ?  "  she  asked,  unsteadily. 

Again  there  was  a  long  silence,  longer  than  the  first,  and 
by  many  degrees  more  disturbing  to  Matilde,  as  she  waited  for 
the  answer. 

"  Bosio  loves  you,"  said  the  voice.  "  He  is  watching  over 
you.  He  tells  you  to  remember  what  you  promised  each  other 
in  the  room  that  is  all  yellow,  long  ago, — that  the  one  that 
should  die  first  would  visit  the  other.  He  tells  you  that  it 
is  possible,  and  that  he  has  kept  his  promise.  He  loves  you 
always,  and  you  will  be  spirits  together." 

Matilde  felt  that  in  the  darkness  she  was  horribly  pale,  but 
she  was  no  longer  frightened. 


164  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Will  he  come  to  me  when  I  am  alone  ? "  she  asked,  and 
her  voice  did  not  shake. 

"  I  will  ask  him,"  answered  the  clear  voice,  and  again  there 
was  silence,  but  only  for  a  few  seconds.  "  This  is  his  answer," 
continued  the  voice.  "  He  cannot  come  to  you  when  you  are 
alone,  as  yet.  By  and  by  he  will  come.  But  he  watches  over 
you.  For  the  present  he  can  only  speak  with  you  through 
Giuditta  Astarita,  who  is  now  asleep." 

"  Is  she  asleep  ?  "  asked  Matilde. 

"  She  is  in  a  trance,"  the  voice  replied.  "  I  speak  through 
her,  but  when  she  awakes,  she  will  not  know  what  I  have  said. 
The  spirits  come  to  her  directly  sometimes,  when  she  is  awake, 
and  they  torment  her.  Bosio  has  been  coming  to  her  often,  and 
has  made  her  suffer,  until  she  wrote  to  you.  The  spirits  them 
selves  suffer  when  they  wish  to  communicate  with  the  living, 
and  cannot." 

"  What  are  you  ?  "  inquired  Matilde. 

"  I  am  Giuditta's  familiar.  The  spirits  generally  speak, 
through  me,  to  her,  when  she  is  in  the  trance." 

"  And  she  knows  nothing  of  what  you  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  after  she  is  awake." 

"Is  Bosio  suffering  now  ? "  asked  Matilde,  gravely  but 
eagerly,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"  I  will  ask  him."  And  another  brief  pause  followed.  "  Yes," 
continued  the  voice.  "  He  is  suffering  because  he  has  left  you. 
He  suffers  remorse.  He  cannot  be  happy  unless  he  can  com 
municate  with  you." 

"  Can  you  see  him  ?     Can  you  see  his  face  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  voice,  without  hesitation.  "  He  is  very 
pale.  His  hair  is  soft,  brown,  and  silky,  with  a  few  grey  streaks 
in  it.  His  eyes  are  gentle  and  tender,  and  his  beard  is  like  his 
hair,  soft  and  like  silk.  He  is  as  you  last  saw  him  alive,  when 
you  kissed  him  by  the  fireplace  in  the  room  that  is  yellow,  just 
before  he  died.  He  loves  you,  as  he  did  then." 

Such  evidence  of  unnatural  knowledge  might  have  convinced 
a  more  sceptical  mind  than  Matilde's  of  the  fact  that  the 
somnambulist  could  at  least  read  her  thoughts  and  memories 
from  her  mind  as  from  a  book.  It  was  impossible  that  any  one 
but  herself  could  know  how,  and  in  what  room,  she  had  kissed 
him  for  the  last  time,  a  few  minutes  before  his  end.  Again  the 
cold  shiver  ran  under  her  hair,  and  she  could  not  speak  again 
for  a  few  moments. 


Xiv  TAQUISARA  165 

"  Does  he  know  what  I  am  going  to  do  to-day  ?  "  she  asked 
at  last,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

"  I  will  ask  him." 

The  silence  which  followed  was  the  longest  of  all  that  there 
had  been. 

"  I  cannot  see  him  any  more,"  said  the  voice,  speaking  more 
faintly.  "  He  is  gone.  He  will  communicate  with  you  again. 
I  cannot  find  him.  Giuditta  is  tired — she  will — "  The  last 
words  were  hardly  audible,  and  the  voice  died  away  altogether. 

In  the  dark,  Matilde  heard  something  like  a  yawn,  as  of 
a  person  waking  from  sleep.  Then  Giuditta's  croaking  voice 
spoke  to  her. 

"  I  am  tired,"  she  said.  "  The  spirits  have  kept  me  a  long 
time.  Did  you  hear  anything  that  you  wished  to  hear  ?  " 

"Yes.     I  heard  much." 

While  Matilde  was  speaking,  the  woman  drew  the  curtain 
back,  and  the  dull  steel  light  cf  the  gloomy  day  filled  the  small 
room.  But  after  the  darkness  it  was  almost  dazzling.  Matilde 
looked  at  Giuditta's  face,  and  saw  the  same  staring,  china  eyes, 
and  the  same  listless  expression  in  the  unhealthy  features.  She 
had  felt  a  sensation  of  relief  when  the  voice  had  been  unable  to 
answer  the  last  question  she  had  asked ;  for  she  still  thought 
that  there  might  be  a  doubt  as  to  Giuditta's  total  forgetfulness 
on  waking.  But  that  doubt  was  greatly  diminished  by  the 
woman's  indifferent  and  weary  look. 

"  I  hope  that  he  will  not  torment  me  so  much  after  this," 
said  Giuditta.  "  I  have  lost  my  sleep  for  several  nights." 

Matilde,  believing  that  the  somnambulist  was  one  person 
when  awake  and  quite  another  when  asleep,  did  not  care  to 
enter  into  conversation  with  her  in  her  present  state.  The 
vivid,  terrible  future  of  the  day  returned  to  her  mind,  too.  She 
had  been  momentarily  unstrung  and  was  in  haste  to  be  gone 
and  to  be  alone.  She  had  her  purse  in  her  hand,  and  stood 
still  a  moment,  hesitating. 

"  I  generally  ask  twenty-five  francs  for  a  consultation,"  said 
Giuditta.  "  But  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming  to 
free  me  from  this  obsession,  that  I  shall  not  charge  anything 
to-day." 

"  No,"  answered  Matilde,  quietly.  "  I  am  not  accustomed 
to  receiving  anything  without  paying  for  it.  But  I  thank  you." 

She  laid  the  money  upon  the  polished  table,  beside  the 
volumes  in  their  gilt  bindings. 


166  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Giuditta.  "  If  you  desire  it,  I  thank  you. 
If  you  should  wish  to  come  again,  I  am  always  to  be  found 
between  ten  and  three  o'clock." 

"  I  will  come  again,"  answered  Matilde. 

She  passed  through  the  door  while  Giuditta  held  it  open  for 
her,  and  in  the  passage  she  was  met  by  the  one-eyed  woman. 
But  she  was  more  unnerved  and  less  observant  than  Bosio 
had  been,  and  she  did  not  notice  the  extraordinary  resem 
blance  between  the  colour  of  the  woman's  one  eye  and  that  of 
Giuditta's  two.  She  descended  the  stairs  slowly,  feeling  dizzy 
at  the  turnings,  but  steadying  herself  as  she  went  down  each 
straight  flight.  She  made  her  way  quickly  to  the  nearest  large 
thoroughfare  and  took  the  first  passing  cab  to  get  home,  for 
she  felt  that  she  had  not  strength  left  to  walk  much  more  on 
that  day. 

She  had  a  moment  of  weakness  and  doubt,  as  she  went  up 
her  own  stairs,  knowing  that  in  half  an  hour  she  must  sit  down 
to  table  with  Gregorio  and  with  Veronica.  It  would  be  the 
last  time,  for  Veronica  would  never  sit  down  with  them  again. 
She  had  not  realized  exactly  how  it  was  to  be.  Henceforth,  at 
that  table,  two  places  were  to  be  vacant,  of  two  persons  dead 
within  a  fortnight,  the  one  by  his  own  hand,  the  other  by  hers ; 
and  from  that  day,  when  she  and  her  husband  sat  there,  the 
shadows  of  those  two  would  be  between  them  always. 

She  paused  on  the  staircase,  and  steadied  herself  with  her 
hand  against  the  wall.  She  knew  that  from  now  until  it  was 
done,  she  should  have  no  moment  in  which  she  could  allow 
herself  the  pitiful  luxury  of  feeling  weak.  And  as  she  stood 
there,  and  thought  of  the  strange  messages  she  had  but  now 
received  from  beyond  the  grave,  she  felt  the  terror  of  what  the 
dead  man's  spirit  might  say  to  her  when  all  was  done,  and 
Veronica  lay  dead  in  her  own  room  upstairs — in  this  coming 
night. 

The  fear  followed  her  up  the  steps  like  a  living  thing,  its 
hand  on  her  shoulder,  its  cold  lips  close  to  her  ears,  breathing 
fright  and  whispering  terror.  And  it  went  in  with  her  to  her 
own  room,  and  kept  freezing  company  with  her  throughout  a 
long  half  hour  of  mental  agony.  It  could  not  bend  her,  but 
it  almost  broke  her.  If  she  could  stand  and  walk  and  see,  she 
would  go  to  Veronica's  room  that  afternoon  and  kill  her.  She 
hated  her,  too.  She  hated  her  all  the  more  bitterly  because 
she  felt  afraid  to  kill  her,  and  knew  that  she  must  conquer  her 


xiv  TAQUISARA  167 

fear  before  she  could  do  it.  She  hated  her  most  savagely 
because,  but  for  her,  Bosio  Macomer  would  still  have  been 
alive.  As  though  she  had  been  herself  about  to  die,  the  great 
pictures  of  her  own  past  rose  in  fierce  colours,  and  faced  her 
with  vivid  life  in  the  very  midst  of  death.  And  with  them 
came  the  clear  echo  of  that  bell-like  voice  she  had  heard 
speaking  message  for  message  between  her  and  the  man  she 
had  lost. 

Her  soul  was  not  in  the  balance,  for  the  die  was  cast  and 
the  deed  was  to  be  done.  But  she  suffered  then,  as  though 
she  had  still  been  free  to  choose.  She  was  not.  The  atrocious 
vision  of  an  infamous  disgrace  stood  between  her  and  all  possi 
bility  of  relenting.  She  saw  again  the  coarse  striped  clothes, 
the  cropped  hair,  the  hands  and  feet  shackled  in  irons,  the 
hideous  faces  of  women  murderers  and  thieves  around  her. 
Well,  that  was  the  alternative,  if  she  let  Veronica  live — all  that, 
or  death. 

Of  course,  in  such  a  case  she  would  have  chosen  death. 
But  it  was  characteristic  of  her  that  from  beginning  to  end  she 
never  thought  of  taking  her  own  life.  She  was  too  vital  by 
nature.  She  had  loved  life  long  and  well ;  she  loved  it  even 
now  that  it  was  not  worth  living.  She  never  even  asked  herself 
the  question  whether  it  would  not  be  better  and  easier  to  end 
all  and  leave  Gregorio  to  his  fate.  Gregorio  !  Her  smooth 
lip  curled  in  contempt.  A  coward,  a  thief,  a  fool — why  should 
she  care  what  became  of  him?  Coldly  and  sincerely  she 
wished  that  she  were  going  to  kill  him,  and  not  Veronica. 
She  despised  the  one,  and  hated  the  other;  of  the  two,  she 
would  rather  have  let  the  hated  one  live.  But  to  die  herself 
seemed  absurd  to  her,  because  she  really  feared  death  with  all 
her  heart,  and  clung  to  life  with  all  her  strong,  vital  nature. 
If  the  lives  of  all  Naples  could  have  saved  her  own,  death 
should  have  had  them  all,  rather  than  take  hers.  To  live  was 
a  passion  of  itself — even  to  live  lonely,  with  a  despicable  and 
hated  companion  in  the  consciousness  of  the  enormous  and 
irrevocable  crime  by  which  that  living  was  to  be  secured 
to  her. 

There  was  a  common,  straight-backed  chair  in  the  room, 
between  the  chest  of  drawers  and  the  wall.  Through  that 
interminable  half-hour  she  sat  upright  upon  it,  her  hands  folded 
upon  her  knees,  quite  cold  and  motionless,  her  eyes  closed, 
and  her  lips  parted  in  an  expression  of  bodily  pain.  Then  she 


i68  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

rose  suddenly,  all  straight  at  once,  tall  and  unbending,  and 
stood  still  while  one  might  have  counted  ten,  and  she  opened 
and  shut  her  eyes  slowly,  two  or  three  times,  as  though  she 
were  comparing  the  outer  world  with  that  within  her.  So 
Clytemnestra  might  have  stood,  before  she  laid  her  hands  to 
the  axe. 

She  did  not  mean  to  be  alone  again  until  all  was  over.  It 
would  be  easier  then.  She  would  have  her  own  bodily  pain  to 
bear.  There  would  be  confusion  in  the  house — doctors — 
screaming  women — trembling  men-servants — her  husband's 
groans ;  for  he  was  a  coward,  and  would  bear  ill  the  little 
suffering  which  would  help  to  save  him.  Then  they  would  tell 
her  that  Veronica  was  dead ;  and  then — then  she  could  sleep 
for  hours,  nights,  days,  calmly,  and  at  rest. 

She  bathed  her  tired  face  in  cold  water,  and  went  to  face 
them  at  luncheon.  With  iron  will,  she  ate  and  drank  and 
talked,  bearing  herself  bravely,  as  some  great  actresses  have 
acted  out  their  parts,  while  death  waited  for  them  at  the  stage 
door. 

Had  the  weather  been  fine,  she  would  have  persuaded  Vero 
nica  to  drive  with  her,  as  on  the  previous  day.  But  it  was  dark 
and  gloomy,  and  there  would  be  rain  before  night.  She  talked 
with  the  young  girl,  and  began  to  make  plans  with  her  for 
going  away.  Gregorio  ate  nothing,  and  looked  on,  uttering  a 
monosyllable  now  and  then,  and  laughing  frantically,  two  or 
three  times.  Nobody  paid  any  attention  to  his  laughter,  now, 
for  the  household  had  grown  used  to  it.  It  might  break  out 
just  when  a  servant  was  handing  him  something;  the  man 
would  merely  draw  back  a  step,  and  wait  until  the  count  was 
quiet  again,  before  offering  the  dish. 

Over  their  coffee,  Matilde  read  fragments  of  news  from  the 
day's  paper,  and  made  comments  on  what  was  happening  in 
the  world.  Veronica  thought  her  unnaturally  talkative  and 
excited,  but  put  it  down  to  the  reaction  after  the  poisoning  of 
the  previous  night.  Matilde  drank  two  cups  of  coffee  instead 
of  one.  Macomer  smoked  one  cigarette  after  another,  and 
sent  for  a  sweet  liqueur,  of  which  he  swallowed  two  glasses.  He 
did  not  look  at  Veronica,  when  he  could  avoid  doing  so. 

At  last  Matilde  rose  and  asked  Veronica  to  allow  her  to  bring 
her  work  and  sit  with  her  in  her  room,  to  which  the  young  girl 
of  course  assented. 

"  By  and  by,  we  will  have  tea  there,"  said  Matilde.     "  Per- 


XIV  TAQUISARA  169 

haps  you  will  let  your  uncle  come  and  have  a  cup  with  us — he 
always  drinks  tea  in  the  afternoon." 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Veronica,  quietly.  "  Will  you  come 
at  four  o'clock,  uncle  Gregorio?  Or  is  that  too  early?" 

"Thank  you.  I  will  come  at  four,  my  dear,"  said  Gregorio; 
and  Matilde  saw  that  his  knees  shook  as  he  moved. 

In  Veronica's  room  the  two  women  sat  through  the  early  part 
of  the  afternoon,  and  still  Matilde  talked  almost  continuously. 
That  was  the  only  outward  sign  that  she  was  not  in  her  usual 
state,  and  Veronica  scarcely  noticed  it,  for  as  the  time  wore  on, 
she  spoke  less  excitedly,  and  more  often  waited  for  an  answer 
to  what  she  said.  Of  course,  the  conversation  turned  for  some 
time  upon  what  had  occurred  on  the  preceding  evening. 
Matilde  scouted  the  idea  that  any  one  had  attempted  to  poison 
her.  It  was  perfectly  clear,  she  said,  that,  although  the  paper 
which  the  doctor  had  carried  away  to  examine  only  contained 
exactly  the  right  amount  of  medicine,  the  one  from  which 
Matilde  had  taken  her  dose  must  have  had  too  much  in  it. 
She  was  quite  out  of  the  habit  of  taking  arsenic,  too,  and  a 
very  slight  overdose  would  always  produce  the  symptoms  of 
poisoning.  Veronica  could  see  that  she  had  felt  no  serious 
ill  effects  from  the  accident.  As  for  thinking  that  any  one  had 
given  her  poison  intentionally,  it  was  utterly  and  entirely  absurd. 
Matilde  refused  to  entertain  the  idea  even  for  a  moment,  and 
presently  she  went  on  to  speak  of  other  things,  and  soon  fell 
back  upon  making  plans  for  the  winter.  She  did  not  allow  the 
conversation  to  flag,  for  she  feared  lest  Veronica  should  be  tired 
of  sitting  in  her  room  and  suddenly  propose  to  go  somewhere 
else,  just  for  the  sake  of  the  change.  It  was  essential  to 
Matilde's  plan  that  Elettra  should  bring  the  things  for  tea. 

She  did  not  allow  herself  to  think,  and  she  succeeded  in 
staving  off  silence.  Now  that  the  deed  was  so  near,  it  seemed 
unreal.  Once  she  touched  her  handkerchief  in  her  pocket,  and 
felt  the  three  prepared  lumps  concealed  in  it,  to  assure  herself 
that  she  was  not  imagining  all  she  had  done,  and  meant  to  do. 
Then,  suddenly,  she  felt  that  her  brow  was  moist,  a  thing  she 
could  hardly  remember  having  noticed  before  in  her  life.  But 
the  moisture  disappeared  almost  instantly,  and  her  skin  was  dry 
and  burning. 

Then  the  time  came,  and  it  was  four  o'clock.  Elettra  opened 
the  door  and  brought  in  the  tea  things  on  a  large  silver  tray,  set 
them  down,  and  went  to  get  the  little  tea-table,  that  was  made 


1 70  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

with  a  shelf  below,  between  the  four  legs,  as  a  table  with  two 
stories. 

"  Let  me  make  it,"  said  Matilde,  cheerfully;  "I  like  to  do  it." 

She  laid  down  her  work,  and  Elettra  set  the  table  before  her 
knees,  with  its  high  silver  urn,  and  all  the  necessary  little  imple 
ments.  Veronica  found  herself  on  the  other  side  of  it,  for 
Matilde  had  carefully  chosen  her  seat  when  she  had  first  come, 
placing  herself  in  such  a  way  with  regard  to  Veronica  as  to  make 
the  present  result  almost  inevitable  unless  the  girl  moved  into 
a  very  inconvenient  position. 

The  big  grey  Maltese  cat  came  in  through  the  still  open  door, 
in  the  hope  of  cream  at  the  tea  hour,  as  usual.  The  creature 
rubbed  itself  along  Elettra's  skirt  while  she  was  lighting  the 
spirit  lamp  under  the  urn,  which  contained  water  already  almost 
boiling. 

"  Will  you  kindly  call  the  count  ?  "  said  Matilde,  addressing 
trie  maid. 

Elettra  left  the  room,  and  Matilde  settled  herself  to  make  the 
tea,  as  women  do,  raising  her  elbow  a  little  on  each  side  and 
then  dropping  them  again,  bending  her  face  down  to  see 
whether  the  lamp  were  burning  well,  opening  the  teapot,  pouring 
a  little  hot  water  into  it,  opening  and  shutting  the  tea-caddy, 
and  settling  each  spoon  in  each  saucer  in  a  dainty  and  utterly 
futile  way. 

The  cat  rubbed  its  grey  sides  against  Veronica's  skirt  and 
against  her  little  slipper,  as  she  sat  there,  one  knee  crossed  over 
the  other.  The  young  girl  bent  down  and  stroked  it,  and 
hesitated,  looking  at  the  tea-table,  and  not  wishing  to  disturb 
the  things  to  take  a  saucer  for  the  cat  until  the  tea  was  made. 
As  she  bent  down,  Matilde  took  her  handkerchief  quietly  from 
her  pocket  and  laid  it  quite  naturally  in  her  lap.  Veronica, 
being  on  the  other  side  of  the  table  and  the  urn,  could  not 
possibly  see  what  she  did. 

Gregorio  came  in.  Elettra  had  opened  the  door  from  without, 
for  him  to  pass.  She  stood  on  the  threshold  a  moment,  and 
looked  towards  the  table,  to  see  whether  anything  had  been 
forgotten.  Then  she  closed  the  door,  and  went  away,  leaving 
the  three  together.  The  water  boiled  almost  immediately;  and 
Gregorio  was  just  sitting  down  when  Matilde  poured  the  water 
out  of  the  teapot,  and  put  in  the  tea.  She  filled  the  pot,  and 
leaned  back  in  her  chair,  to  allow  it  to  draw  a  few  moments. 

The  silence  was  intense  during  several  seconds.     Only  the 


xiv  TAQUISARA  171 

purring  of  the  cat  was  heard,  as  Veronica,  letting  her  arm  hang 
down  without  stooping,  gently  rubbed  its  broad  head.  It 
pushed  itself  under  her  hand,  bending  its  back  to  her  caress, 
turned  quickly,  and  pushed  its  head  under  her  hand  once  more, 
doing  the  same  thing  again  and  again. 

Matilde  sat  upright,  lifted  the  cover  of  the  teapot  an  instant, 
and  then  began  to  move  the  cups.  Veronica,  whose  thoughts 
were  intent  upon  the  animal  she  was  touching,  and  which,  as 
she  knew,  was  begging  for  cream,  immediately  leaned  forward, 
and  took  from  under  the  silver  cream  jug  a  saucer  which  Elettra 
had  especially  brought  for  the  purpose.  She  poured  a  little 
cream  into  it,  and,  bending  down,  placed  it  on  the  lower  shelf 
of  the  tea-table,  and  gently  pushed  the  cat  towards  it. 

Matilde  saw  her  opportunity,  while  Veronica  was  stooping ; 
and  in  that  moment  she  distributed  the  three  lumps  from  her 
handkerchief  in  the  three  cups  before  her,  and  at  once  began  to 
pour  tea  into  the  one  containing  the  largest  lump.  The  cat,  for 
some  reason,  wished  the  saucer  to  be  set  upon  the  floor ;  and 
Veronica  still  bent  down,  until  it  sprang  lightly  upon  the  lower 
shelf,  and  began  the  slow  and  dainty  operation  of  lapping  the 
cream. 

During  all  this,  Gregorio,  anxious  to  seem  unaware  of  any 
thing  extraordinary,  and  not  really  knowing  how  his  wife  meant 
to  put  the  poison  into  the  tea,  was  nervously  looking  away  from 
her,  sometimes  towards  the  window,  at  the  fast-fading  light  of 
the  grey  afternoon  on  the  opposite  house,  and  sometimes 
at  Veronica's  head  as  she  bent  down.  When  she  looked  up, 
Matilde  was  holding  out  her  cup  to  her,  having  put  some  cream 
into  it  and  a  lump  of  real  sugar  to  really  sweeten  the  tea. 

Veronica  thanked  her,  drew  a  little  nearer  to  the  table,  held 
her  cup  on  her  knee,  and  took  a  thin  slice  of  bread  and  butter, 
which  she  proceeded  to  eat,  stirring  the  tea  slowly  with  her  left 
hand. 

Matilde  meanwhile  filled  the  other  two  cups,  and  handed  one 
to  her  husband,  who  took  it  in  silence,  unsuspectingly. 

"  I  can  never  understand  why  the  tea  we  make  here  is  better 
than  mine,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  It  is  the  same  tea,  of  course. 
But  it  certainly  is  better  in  your  room." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  asked  Veronica,  carelessly,  and  looking  down  at  the 
cup  she  held  on  her  knee,  while  she  slowly  stirred  the  contents. 

As  though  to  verify  Matilde's  assertion,  she  bent  a  little,  raised 
the  cup,  and  tasted  the  liquid.  It  was  still  too  hot  to  drink,  and 


172  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

she  stirred  it  again  on  her  knee.  She  noticed  that  although  it 
had  been  sweet  enough  to  her  taste,  there  was  a  lump  of  sugar, 
not  yet  dissolved,  still  in  the  cup :  she  never  took  but  one  piece, 
and  her  aunt  had  evidently  put  in  two. 

Still  holding  the  cup  on  her  knee,  where  Matilde  could  not 
possibly  see  it,  she  quietly  fished  the  superfluous  piece  of  sugar 
out  with  her  teaspoon,  and  bending  down  again  she  deposited 
it  in  the  saucer  from  which  the  cat  was  lapping  the  last  drops  of 
cream.  She  noticed  that  it  was  only  dissolved  at  the  corners, 
but  she  had  observed  before  that  one  sometimes  finds  a  lump 
of  sugar  which  remains  hard  a  long  time.  The  cat  would  eat  it, 
for  it  liked  sugar,  as  some  cats  do. 

Then  she  filled  the  cat's  saucer  again.  By  that  time  what  she 
had  was  cooler,  and  she  drank  some  of  it. 

"  It  is  certainly  very  good  tea,"  she  said,  thoughtfully.  "  I 
think  you  probably  make  it  better  than  I  do." 

As  she  drank  again,  Gregorio's  unearthly  laugh  cracked  and 
jarred  in  the  room.  But  neither  he  nor  his  wife  had  seen  what 
Veronica  had  done.  They  were  staring  hard  at  each  other,  and 
for  the  second  time  Matilde  felt  that  her  brow  was  moist. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  Maltese  cat  died  before  six  o'clock.  The  poor  creature 
suffered  horribly,  and  Elettra  carried  it  off  to  her  room  that 
Veronica  might  not  see  its  agony.  But  Veronica  followed  her 
maid.  Elettra  had  laid  the  beast  upon  a  folded  rug  on  the 
floor  and  knelt  beside  it.  It  seemed  half  paralyzed  already,  but 
when  Veronica  knelt  down,  too,  and  tried  to  caress  it  the  cat 
sprang  from  them  both  in  sudden  terror.  It  stood  still  an 
instant,  wagging  its  head  while  its  shoulders  contracted  vio 
lently.  Then  it  glided  under  the  chest  of  drawers  to  die  alone, 
if  possible,  after  the  manner  of  animals  of  prey.  The  girl  and 
her  maid  heard  its  rattling  breathing  and  its  convulsions :  its 
body  thumped  against  the  lower  drawer.  Then,  while  Veronica 
listened  and  Elettra  bent,  candle  in  hand,  till  her  face  touched 
the  floor,  to  see  it  and  get  it  out,  all  at  once  it  was  quiet. 

"  Get  up,"  said  Veronica,  nervously,  for  she  was  fond  of  the 
creature.  "  Help  me  to  move  the  chest  of  drawers  out.  Then 
we  can  get  it  out." 


xv  TAQUISARA  173 

"  It  is  dead,"  answered  Elettra,  still  on  the  floor,  and  thrust 
ing  her  long,  thin  arm  under  the  piece  of  furniture.  "But  I 
cannot  pull  him  out,"  she  added.  "  He  is  so  big  ! " 

She  got  upon  her  feet,  and  together,  without  much  difficulty, 
the  two  dragged  the  chest  of  drawers  away  from  the  wall,  and 
then  bent  down  behind  it,  with  the  candle,  to  look  at  the  dead 
animal. 

"  It  is  quite  dead,"  said  Elettra.  "  Poor  beast !  What  can 
have  happened  to  it  ?  "  Veronica  was  really  sorry,  but  of  the 
two  the  maid  had  been  the  more  fond  of  the  cat.  "  It  must 
have  eaten  something." 

Elettra  looked  up,  suspiciously,  and  Veronica  drew  back  a 
step,  half  straightening  herself.  Her  foot  touched  something 
close  to  the  wall.  She  stooped  again  and  picked  up  the  package 
of  rat-poison  which  Matilde  had  hidden  under  the  chest  of 
drawers  on  the  previous  night.  She  looked  at  it  closely.  It 
had  evidently  not  lain  long  where  she  had  found  it,  for  there 
was  no  dust  on  it,  and  the  coarse  paper  had  an  unmistakably 
fresh  look.  The  indication  of  the  contents  was  written  upon 
it  in  ink,  in  illiterate  characters. 

"  It  is  rat-poison  ! "  exclaimed  Veronica.  "  The  cat  must 
have  eaten  some  of  it !  How  did  it  come  here  ?  " 

She  looked  at  her  maid  curiously. 

"  The  cat  could  not  have  wrapped  it  up  and  folded  in  the 
ends  of  the  paper,"  observed  Elettra. 

"That  is  true." 

They  looked  at  each  other,  in  considerable  astonishment. 
Then  they  talked  about  it.  Veronica  asked  whether  Elettra 
had  complained  that  there  were  mice  in  her  room,  and  whether 
some  stupid  servant,  having  a  package  of  rat-poison  at  hand, 
had  not  stuck  it  under  the  chest  of  drawers,  not  even  thinking 
of  opening  the  paper.  Elettra  was  suspicious. 

"At  all  events,  Excellency,"  she  said,  "remember  that  you 
found  it,  and  that  it  was  carefully  closed." 

Suddenly,  as  they  were  speaking  together,  Veronica's  face 
changed,  and  she  grasped  the  corner  of  the  piece  of  furniture 
convulsively.  Though  she  had  taken  the  poisoned  lump  from 
her  cup  in  time  to  save  her  life,  enough  had  been  dissolved 
already  to  make  her  very  ill. 

Again  there  was  dire  confusion  and  fear  in  the  Palazzo 
Macomer,  by  night.  It  was  a  wholesale  poisoning.  Veronica, 
Matilde,  and  Gregorio  were  all  seized  nearly  at  the  same  time. 


174  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Several  of  the  servants  left  the  house  within  half  an  hour 
after  it  was  known  that  their  masters  were  all  poisoned.  Within 
a  fortnight,  Bosio  Macomer  had  killed  himself  and  there  had 
been  two  poisonings.  Matilde's  maid  and  a  housemaid,  the 
cook,  and  the  butler  went  quietly  to  their  several  rooms,  took 
the  most  valuable  of  their  own  possessions,  and  slipped  out. 
They  felt  that  the  house  was  doomed,  with  every  one  in  it. 
But  some  one  had  gone  for  the  doctor,  and  he  arrived  in  a 
short  time.  Matilde,  to  whom  all  the  proper  antidotes  had 
been  given  on  the  previous  day,  might  have  taken  them  at  once, 
but  in  the  first  place,  weak  and  still  suffering  the  consequence 
of  the  first  dangerous  experiment,  she  was  almost  unconscious 
with  pain,  and  secondly,  if  she  had  taken  an  antidote  herself,  it 
would  have  seemed  strange  that  she  should  not  administer  it  to 
Veronica,  or  at  least  send  some  one  to  the  young  girl  to  do  so. 
Gregorio  lay  howling  with  pain  in  his  room.  But  Matilde  had 
warned  him  that  it  would ,  come,  after  they  had  left  Veronica's 
room  together,  and  he  knew  that  everything  depended  on  his 
not  hinting  at  the  truth. 

The  doctor  came  to  Matilde  first.  Far  away,  at  the  other 
end  of  the  house,  Elettra  was  with  Veronica.  She  had  known 
what  they  had  done  for  the  countess  on  the  preceding  evening, 
and  while  the  servants  were  screaming  and  running  hither  and 
thither  through  the  apartments,  like  scared  sheep,  the  woman 
had  quietly  got  oil  and  warm  water,  and  was  giving  both  to  her 
mistress.  She  knew  that  a  footman  had  gone  for  the  doctor. 
When  Veronica  had  first  been  seized  with  pain,  Elettra  had 
thrust  the  package  of  poison  into  her  own  pocket,  and  it  was 
still  there. 

By  the  time  the  antidote  began  to  act,  Elettra  believed 
that  the  doctor  must  be  in  the  house.  Not  wishing  to  leave 
Veronica  even  for  a  moment,  she  rang  the  bell.  But  no  one 
came.  The  woman  suspected  that  the  doctor  had  gone  first  to 
Matilde,  and  she  decided  in  a  moment  that  it  was  better  to 
leave  her  mistress  alone  for  two  or  three  minutes  than  not 
to  have  the  physician's  assistance  at  once.  She  hastened  to 
Matilde's  room.  As  she  passed  a  half-open  door  the  package 
of  poison  in  her  pocket  struck  against  the  door-post  and 
reminded  her  of  its  presence,  if  she  needed  reminding. 

The  doctor  was  bending  over  Matilde,  who  seemed  very 
weak.  As  Elettra  entered,  she  saw  that  there  was  no  one  else 
in  the  room.  A  drawer  in  a  piece  of  furniture  stood  open  as 


xv  TAQUISARA  175 

Matilde  had  left  it,  and  as  Elettra  passed,  she  dropped  the 
package  in,  and  with  a  movement  of  her  hand  covered  it  with 
some  folded  handkerchiefs,  from  a  little  heap,  shutting  the 
drawer  with  a  quick  push.  Neither  Matilde  nor  the  doctor 
saw  her  do  it.  As  Elettra  spoke  to  the  doctor,  the  countess 
started  at  the  sound  of  her  voice.  She  thought  the  maid  had 
come  to  say  that  Veronica  was  dead.  Almost  violently  the 
woman  dragged  the  physician  away  with  her,  and  Matilde 
smiled  in  the  midst  of  her  sufferings. 

It  would  be  useless  to  chronicle  the  details  of  the  night  and 
of  the  following  morning.  The  three  poisoned  persons  were 
almost  recovered  within  twelve  hours.  Of  the  servants  who 
had  fled,  Matilde's  maid  was  the  first  to  come  back  when  she 
learned  that  no  one  was  dead. 

As  the  night  wore  on  towards  dawn,  and  the  countess  learned 
that  Veronica  was  alive  and  not  at  all  likely  to  die,  she  silently 
turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and  tore  her  pocket-handkerchief 
slowly  with  her  teeth.  In  the  morning,  when  the  doctor  was 
there,  the  maid  was  alone  in  the  room,  arranging  things  as 
quickly  as  she  could,  and  hoping  that  in  the  confusion  of  the 
previous  night,  her  absence  might  not  have  been  observed.  In 
the  drawer,  amongst  the  handkerchiefs  and  other  things,  she 
came  upon  the  package,  looked  at  it  in  surprise,  turned  it  round 
and  round,  and  read  the  words  written  on  it.  Then,  thinking  that 
she  had  discovered  the  clue  to  the  attempted  wholesale  murder, 
and  that  she  might  obtain  pardon  for  her  defection,  she  came 
to  the  bedside  and  held  it  up  to  the  doctor.  He,  too,  looked 
at  it,  and  read  the  words.  Matilde's  heavy  eyes  opened,  and 
then  stared  as  she  recognized  the  package.  She  thought  that 
of  course  it  had  been  found  in  Elettra's  room,  and  was  sure  of 
the  answer,  when  she  put  the  question  to  her  maid. 

"  Where  did  you  find  it  ?  "  she  asked,  faintly. 

"  In  the  drawer,  here,  Excellency." 

"  In  the  drawer ! "  cried  Matilde,  starting  up,  and  leaning  on 
her  elbow,  as  though  electrified.  "  In  the  drawer  ?  Here,  in 
my  room  ?  Why — it  was — " 

Her  head  sank  back,  and  her  eyes  closed.  She  had  nearly 
betrayed  herself,  for  she  was  very  weak. 

"  It  was  not  there  yesterday — I  am  sure  of  it,"  she  said, 
feebly. 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  said  the  doctor,  sternly,  and  he  put  it  into 
his  pocket. 


176  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

All  that  day  Matilde  lay  in  her  room.  Gregorio  had  re 
covered.  He  came  to  her,  and  when  they  were  alone,  he 
reproached  her  bitterly  and  upbraided  her  in  unmeasured 
language  for  her  failure.  Veronica  was  alive,  and  his  terror 
of  the  ruin  before  him  grew  stronger  with  the  physical  weak 
ness.  He  was  a  coward  always,  but  he  was  now  half  mad  with 
fear.  He  laughed  hideously,  and  his  face  twitched.  He  sawed 
the  air  with  extraordinary  gestures  while  he  walked  up  and  down 
in  his  wife's  room,  speaking  excitedly  in  a  low  tone.  Matilde 
turned  to  the  wall  and  answered  nothing.  For  she  could  not 
have  found  anything  to  say. 

From  time  to  time,  during  the  day,  she  had  news  of  Veronica. 
Elettra  never  left  her  mistress  but  once,  shortly  before  twelve 
o'clock.  She  went  out  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  came  back 
bringing  fresh  eggs,  bread,  and  wine,  which  she  had  bought 
herself. 

"  It  is  poor  fare,  Excellency,"  she  said,  as  she  boiled  the  eggs 
in  the  tea-urn,  "  but  it  is  safe.  If  you  are  strong  enough  this 
afternoon,  we  will  go  away.  This  is  not  a  good  house.  I  do 
not  understand  what  was  done ;  but  it  was  done  to  kill  you  and 
not  to  hurt  them." 

"  I  think  it  was,"  said  Veronica.  "  I  am  not  frightened,  but 
I  do  not  think  that  I  am  safe  here." 

After  she  had  eaten  a  little  and  drunk  some  wine,  she  felt 
stronger,  and  wrote  a  line  to  the  Princess  Corleone,  asking  the 
latter  to  receive  her  for  a  few  days,  as  she  was  in  trouble.  In 
an  hour  she  had  an  answer.  Bianca,  of  course,  was  ready  for 
her  whenever  she  might  come.  Elettra  quickly  began  to  pack 
such  things  as  her  mistress  might  need  immediately. 

Veronica  lay  still,  listening  to  Elettra's  movements  in  the 
next  room.  In  a  flash  she  had  guessed  half  the  truth,  and 
reflexion  now  brought  her  most  of  the  rest.  She  remembered 
Don  Teodoro's  earnest  face  and  the  quiet  eyes  that  had  looked 
at  her  through  the  silver  spectacles  while  he  had  been  speaking. 
There  had  been  conviction  in  them,  and  even  then  she  had  felt 
that  he  believed  the  truth  of  what  he  said,  however  mistaken 
he  might  be.  And  now  she  felt  that  it  was  not  he  who  had 
spoken,  but  Bosio,  through  him,  that  the  warning  came  from 
beyond  the  grave,  and  that  she  had  risked  her  life  in  disregard 
ing  it.  She  believed  that  Bosio  had  been  a  truthful  man,  and 
each  detail  of  what  had  happened  fitted  itself  to  the  next,  to 
make  up  the  whole  story  which  the  priest  had  told  her.  All 


xv  TAQUISARA  177 

but  Bosio's  love  for  Matilde,  and  in  that  Don  Teodoro  had 
misunderstood  him.  He  might  have  loved  her  in  the  past. 
That  was  possible,  and  to  the  young  girl's  mind,  in  comparison 
with  all  that  had  recently  happened,  the  wrong  of  that  love 
dwindled  to  an  insignificant  detail.  She  had  not  been  near 
enough  to  loving  the  man  herself  to  be  jealous  of  his  past 
And  she  was  glad  that  he  had  not  told  Don  Teodoro  of  his 
love  for  herself. 

The  rest  all  grew  to  distinctness  and  to  the  coincidence 
of  the  fact  with  the  warning.  She  was  brave  enough  to  face 
danger  as  well  as  a  man,  but  there  was  no  reason  why  she 
should  stay  where  she  was,  waiting  to  be  murdered.  She  had  a 
right  to  save  herself  without  despising  herself  as  a  coward.  She 
therefore  said  nothing  to  stop  Elettra  in  her  preparations,  and 
the  maid  silently  went  on  with  her  work  in  the  other  room. 

She  still  felt  ill  and  terribly  shaken,  but  she  rose  softly,  to  try 
her  strength,  and  she  found  that  after  the  first  moment's 
dizziness  she  could  stand  and  walk  alone.  She  looked  at  her 
hands,  and  she  thought  that  they  had  shrunk  and  were  thinner 
than  ever.  Then  she  lay  down  again  and  called  Elettra,  and 
bade  her  prepare  her  own  belongings  and  then  come  and  dress 
her,  when  she  should  have  finished. 

"  Yes,  Excellency." 

That  was  almost  all  that  the  woman  had  said,  since  she  had 
boiled  the  eggs  for  her  mistress's  luncheon,  and  Veronica  her 
self  did  not  speak  except  to  give  an  order  about  some  detail  of 
the  packing.  It  would  have  been  impossible  to  talk  of  what 
had  happened  without  speaking  clearly  about  Matilde,  and 
Veronica  did  not  wish  to  do  that,  though  Elettra  was  of  her  own 
people  and  devotedly  attached  to  her. 

Elettra  had  been  careful  that  no  one  in  the  household  should 
learn  her  mistress's  intention  of  leaving  the  palace.  Veronica 
intended  to  go  away  in  a  cab,  and  it  would  be  the  question  of  a 
moment  only  to  call  one.  When  all  was  ready,  Elettra  went 
out  for  that  purpose  herself,  and  Veronica  went  without 
hesitation  to  Matilde's  room.  When  she  entered,  the  countess 
was  alone,  propped  with  pillows  on  a  low  couch  near  the  fire. 
Her  large  white  hands  lay  listlessly  upon  the  dark  shawl  that 
was  drawn  over  her,  and  she  had  thrown  a  piece  of  thick  black 
lace  over  her  head.  It  was  nearly  four  o'clock,  and  the  light 
was  already  waning,  so  that,  as  she  lay  with  her  back  to  the 
window,  Veronica  could  hardly  see  her  face,  She  raised  her 

M 


i;8  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

head  slowly  and  wearily  as  the  young  girl  entered,  and  then 
started  visibly,  as  she  recognized  her. 

"  It  is  I,"  said  Veronica,  when  she  had  closed  the  door. 

She  came  and  stood  beside  the  couch  on  which  her  aunt 
lay,  and  she  looked  down  at  the  reclining  woman.  Matilde's 
listless  hands  suddenly  clasped  each  other. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  an  effort.  "  Are  you  going  out  ? 
Are  you  well  enough  to  go  out  ?  "  she  asked,  adding  the  last 
question  quickly. 

"  I  should  go  if  I  were  much  more  ill  than  I  have  been," 
Veronica  replied.  "  I  am  not  coming  back." 

"  Not  coming  back  ?  "  Surprise  brought  energy  into  Matilde's 
voice. 

"  No.  I  am  not  coming  back.  Do  not  be  astonished.  I 
understand  what  has  happened,  and  I  am  going  to  a  safer  place." 

"What?  How?  I  do  not  understand."  Matilde  spoke 
rapidly  and  unsteadily.  "You  must  stay  here — Gregorio  is 
going  to  send  for  the  chief  of  police — there  will  be  an  inquiry, 
and  you  must  answer  questions — we  suspect  one  of  the  servants, 
who  has  a  grudge  against  your  uncle,  and  who  has  tried  to 
murder  us  all  in  revenge — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Veronica,  calmly.  "  It  was  well  arranged,  I  am 
sure.  If  I  had  not  found  the  rat-poison  under  the  chest  of 
drawers  in  Elettra's  room,  you  might  have  thrown  suspicion 
upon  her,  because  her  husband  was  murdered  at  Muro.  If 
I  had  not  found  my  tea  too  sweet,  I  should  not  have  taken  out 
the  second  piece  and  given  it  to  the  cat.  The  taste  I  had  of  it 
almost  killed  me — you  have  explained  the  rest  to  me  now. 
But  I  knew  all  that  I  needed  to  know." 

Matilde  put  her  feet  to  the  ground  and  slowly  rose  to  her  feet 
while  Veronica  was  speaking.  Then  she  laid  her  two  hands 
upon  the  girl's  shoulders  and  stared  into  her  face. 

"  Do  you  dare  to  accuse  me  of  trying  to  poison  you  ?  "  she 
asked,  in  a  low,  fierce  voice. 

"  Take  your  hands  from  me  !  "  cried  Veronica,  thrusting  her 
back.  "  Call  your  husband.  I  will  accuse  you  both — you  and 
him." 

They  were  women  of  the  same  race  and  name,  and  both 
brave.  But  the  elder  and  stronger  felt  her  nerves  growing  weak 
in  her  when  she  heard  the  other's  voice.  Perhaps  courageous 
people  recognize  courage  and  conviction  in  others  more  easily 
than  cowards  can,  Matilde  hesitated, 


XV  TAQUISARA  179 

"  Call  him ! "  repeated  Veronica,  in  a  tone  of  command. 
"  I  insist  upon  it.  He  shall  hear  what  I  have  to  say." 

"  I  will  call  him,  that  he  may  see  for  himself  that  you  are 
quite  mad,"  answered  Matilde.  "  That  is,"  she  added,  "  if  he 
is  well  enough  to  come  here  from  his  room."  And  she  moved 
slowly  towards  the  door. 

"  If  I  am  alive,  he  is  well  enough  to  hear  me  speak,"  said  the 
young  girl. 

Matilde  stopped,  turned,  and  faced  her  a  moment,  as  though 
about  to  speak  angrily.  Then  she  went  on.  It  was  best,  on 
the  whole,  to  call  her  husband,  she  thought,  though  her  reason 
ing  was  confused  and  uncertain.  In  her  view  of  matters,  the 
burden  of  the  crime  she  had  tried  to  commit  all  fell  upon  him, 
and  she  was  willing  that  he  should  face  Veronica,  and  realize 
what  he  had  done.  At  the  same  time  she  believed  herself  so 
safe  as  still  to  be  able  to  throw  the  suspicion  entirely  upon 
Elettra,  though  Veronica  \vould  protect  her.  Moreover, 
though  she  would  not  have  admitted  the  fact,  her  strength  was 
momentarily  so  broken  that  she  felt  it  easier  to  obey  the  young 
girl  than  to  visit  her  and  fight  out  the  interview  alone. 

Veronica  did  not  move  while  she  was  gone,  but  stood  quite 
still,  watching  the  door.  She  was  very  pale,  with  illness  and 
rising  anger,  but  she  was  not  weak,  as  Matilde  was.  She  had 
not  gone  through  half  so  much.  Presently  Matilde  returned, 
followed  by  Macomer,  wrapped  in  a  dark  velvet  dressing-gown, 
his  face  white  and  twitching,  his  usually  smooth  grey  beard 
unbrushed,  and  his  grey  hair  in  disorder.  With  drawn  lids  he 
looked  at  Veronica,  and  in  his  terror  he  tried  to  smile,  but 
there  was  something  at  once  cowardly  and  insolent  in  the 
expression — there  was  something  else,  too,  which  the  young 
girl  did  not  understand,  a  sort  of  vacancy  of  the  brow  and 
unnatural  weakness  of  the  mouth. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  come,"  she  said,  when  the  door 
was  shut.  "I  have  not  much  to  say,  and  I  wish  you  to 
hear  it." 

They  were  all  standing.  Gregorio  steadied  himself  by  the 
head  of  the  couch,  and  was  as  erect  as  ever. 

"  I  will  tell  you  something  which  you  do  not  know,"  said 
Veronica,  fixing  her  eyes  on  him.  "  Before  Bosio  died  he  told 
the  whole  truth  to  Don  Teodoro  Maresca,  his  friend.  And 
the  day  after  his  death,  Don  Teodoro  came  and  told  it  all 
to  me," 


i8o  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Bosio  ! "  exclaimed  Gregorio,  his  knees  shaking.  "  Bosio 
told—" 

"What  did  Bosio  tell?"  asked  Matilde,  interrupting  her 
husband  in  a  loud  voice  to  cover  any  mistake  he  might  be 
about  to  make. 

But  Veronica  had  seen  Macomer's  face  and  had  heard  his 
tone  of  dread.  Whatever  doubts  she  still  had,  disappeared  for 
the  last  time. 

"  He  told  his  friend  the  whole  truth  about  your  manage 
ment  of  my  fortune,"  she  answered,  steadily.  "  He  told  how 
you  had  lost  your  own  in  speculation  and  had  taken  everything 
of  mine  upon  which  you  could  lay  hands — all  my  income  and 
much  more,  so  long  as  you  were  still  my  guardian — you  and 
Lamberto  Squarci,  helping  each  other.  And  I  understand 
now  why  you  would  not  give  me  that  money  the  other  day. 
You  had  not  got  it  to  give  me.  My  aunt  must  have  borrowed 
it.  And  Bosio  told  Don  Teodoro,  that  unless  he  was  married 
to  me,  you  meant  to  kill  me,  because  I  had  signed  a  will 
leaving  you  everything.  There  was  nothing  that  Bosio  did  not 
tell,  and  Don  Teodoro  repeated  every  word  of  it  to  me.  I 
thought  him  mad.  But  now  I  know  that  he  was  not.  I  have 
been  saved  by  a  miracle,  but  you  shall  not  try  to  murder  me 
again — so  I  am  going  away." 

Macomer  had  listened  to  the  end,  his  face  working  horribly 
and  his  hands  grasping  the  head  of  the  couch.  When  Vero 
nica  paused,  his  head  fell  forward  as  he  stood.  Even  Matilde 
could  not  speak,  for  a  moment  The  revelation  that  Bosio 
had  told  all  before  he  died,  and  that  Veronica  knew  it,  fell 
upon  her  like  a  blow,  with  stunning  force.  The  first  words 
came  from  Gregorio. 

"  Bosio  ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  loud  voice.  "  The  devil  take 
his  soul ! " 

"  God  will  have  mercy  upon  the  soul  that  was  lost  through 
your  deeds,"  said  the  young  girl,  solemnly.  "Amongst  you, 
you  drove  him  to  madness — it  was  not  his  fault.  But  for  his 
soul  you  shall  answer,  as  well  as  for  your  deeds — and  that 
is  much  to  answer  for,  to  Heaven  and  to  me.  You  neither 
of  you  have  the  strength  to  deny  one  word  of  what  Bosio 
said—" 

"  He  was  mad  ! "  Matilde  broke  in.     "  You  are  mad,  too — 

"  Oh  no  ! "  interrupted  Veronica,  with  contempt.  "  You 
cannot  fasten  that  upon  me.  I  am  not  mad  at  all,  and  I  will 


XV  TAQUISARA  181 

show  you  what  it  is  to  be  sane,  for  I  know  that  every  word  of 
what  Bosio  told  Don  Teodoro  was  true.  I  was  foolish  not  to 
believe  it  at  once — it  almost  cost  my  life  to  believe  you  better 
than  you  are." 

"  He  was  quite  insane,"  muttered  Gregorio,  in  almost  im 
becile  repetition  of  what  his  wife  had  said. 

Matilde  made  another  great  effort  to  impose  her  remaining 
strength  upon  the  young  girl. 

"Whether  you  are  mad  or  not,  you  shall  not  stand  there 
accusing  me  of  monstrous  crimes ! "  she  cried,  moving  a  step 
towards  Veronica,  and  raising  her  hand  with  a  menacing 
gesture. 

"Shall  not?"  repeated  Veronica,  proudly,  and  instead  of 
retreating  she  advanced  calmly  to  meet  her  aunt. 

"  Would  you  not  rather  that  I  accused  you  here,  and  proved 
you  guilty  and  let  you  go  free,  than  that  I  should  do  as  much 
in  a  court  of  justice  ?  You  know  what  the  end  of  that  would 
be — penal  servitude  for  you  both — and  unless — "  she  paused, 
for  she  was  growing  hot  and  she  wished  to  speak  with  coolness. 

"Unless?"  Matilde  uttered  the  one  word  scornfully,  still 
facing  her. 

"  Unless  you  will  confess  the  truth,  here,  before  I  leave  the 
house,  I  will  do  what  I  can  to  have  you  both  convicted,"  said 
Veronica.  "That  is  your  only  chance.  That  or  the  galleys. 
Choose.  You  are  thieves  and  murderers.  Choose." 

She  spoke  like  a  man  to  those  who  would  have  murdered  her 
and  had  failed,  but  who  had  robbed  her  with  impunity  for 
years.  Gregorio  Macomer's  face  was  all  distorted.  All  at  once 
his  maniac  laugh  broke  out.  But  it  stopped  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly,  and  it  changed  to  another  sort  of  laughter — low 
and  not  unpleasant  to  hear,  but  a  little  vacant.  Matilde  turned 
her  head  slowly  and  gazed  at  him.  He  was  bending  now  and 
resting  his  elbows  on  the  head  of  the  couch,  instead  of  his 
hands,  and  he  held  his  hands  themselves  opposite  to  each 
other,  crooking  first  one  finger  and  then  another,  and  making 
one  finger  bow  to  the  other,  as  children  sometimes  do,  and 
laughing  vacantly  to  himself,  with  a  queer  little  chuckle  of 
enjoyment.  Veronica  stared.  Matilde  held  her  breath.  Still 
he  laughed  softly. 

"  Marionettes,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  his  wife,  his  little  eyes 
wide  open.  "  Do  you  see  the  marionettes  ?  This  is  Pulcinella. 
This  is  his  wife.  Do  you  see  how  they  quarrel?  Is  it  not 


182  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

pretty?  I  always  like  to  see  the  marionettes  in  the  streets. 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  see  them  !  " 

And  he  played  with  his  fingers  and  made  them  bob  and  bow, 
like  little  dolls. 

"He  is  ill,"  said  Matilde,  in  a  low,  uneasy  voice.  " Pay  no 
attention  to  him." 

He  had  always  intended  to  save  himself  by  pretending  to  go 
mad,  but  even  Matilde  was  amazed  at  his  power  of  acting. 

"  He  will  recover,"  answered  Veronica,  coldly.  "  You  can 
still  understand  me,  at  all  events,  even  if  he  cannot.  You  have 
your  choice.  If  you  tell  me  the  truth,  I  will  not  allow  any 
inquiry.  I  will  take  over  my  fortune,  if  you  have  left  me  any, 
and  for  the  sake  of  my  father's  name,  I  will  not  bring  you  to 
justice,  even  if  you  have  ruined  me.  But  I  warn  you — and  it  is 
the  last  time,  for  I  am  going — if  you  still  try  to  deny  what  I 
know  to  be  the  truth,  the  prosecution  shall  begin  to-morrow. 
You  will  not  be  able  to  murder  me,  for  I  shall  be  protected, 
and  with  all  your  abominable  courage  you  are  not  brave  enough 
to  try  and  kill  me  here,  before  I  leave  this  room.  No — you 
are  not.  I  am  not  afraid  of  you.  But  you  have  reason  to 
be  afraid.  You  will  be  convicted.  Nothing  can  save  you. 
Though  people  do  not  know  me  as  they  knew  my  father, — 
though  I  am  only  a  girl  and  came  to  you,  straight  from  the 
convent, — I  know  that  I  have  power,  and  I  shall  use  it.  I  am 
not  poor  Elettra,  whom  you  intended  to  accuse.  I  am  the 
Princess  of  Acireale ;  I  have  been  your  ward ;  you  and  your 
husband  have  robbed  me,  and  you  have  tried  to  murder  me. 
Though  I  am  only  a  girl,  justice  will  move  more  quickly  for  me 
than  it  would  for  you,  even  if  you  could  call  it  to  help  you. 
Now  choose,  and  waste  no  time." 

While  she  had  been  speaking,  Macomer  had  stared  at  her 
with  an  expression  of  genuine  childish  amusement. 

"  Poor  Pulcinella  ! "  he  exclaimed,  softly.  "  How  your  wife 
can  talk,  when  she  is  angry  !  Poor  fellow  ! " 

The  tone  was  so  natural  that  Matilde  again  looked  at  him 
uneasily,  and  moved  nearer  to  him,  not  answering  Veronica. 

"Come,  Gregorio,"  she  said,  "you  are  ill.  Come  to  your 
room — you  must  not  stay  here." 

"I  am  sorry  you  do  not  like  the  marionettes,"  he  said, 
gravely.  "  They  always  amuse  me.  Stay  a  little  longer." 

Veronica  supposed  that  he  was  ill  from  the  effects  of  the 
poisoning,  and  that  he  was  in  some  sort  of  delirium.  But  she 


XV  TAQUISARA  183 

did  not  pity  him,  and  was  relentless.  She  moved  nearer  to  her 
aunt. 

"  Answer  me  ! "  she  said,  sternly.  "  This  is  the  last  time.  If 
you  deny  the  truth  now,  I  will  go  to  the  chief  of  police  at  once." 

"  Oh  !  poor  old  Pulcinella  !  "  cried  Macomer,  laughing  gently. 
"  How  she  gives  it  to  him  ! " 

Matilde  was  almost  distracted. 

"  You  will  be  arrested  at  once,"  said  Veronica,  pitilessly. 

"  Never  mind,  Pulcinella  !  "  exclaimed  Macomer.  "  Courage, 
my  friend !  You  know  you  always  get  away  from  the  police 
man  !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! " 

Matilde  saw  Veronica  moving  to  go  to  the  door.  She 
straightened  herself  and  pointed  to  her  husband. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.     "  He  did  it— and  he  is  mad." 

Her  voice  was  firm  and  clear,  for  the  die  was  cast.  When 
she  had  spoken,  she  turned  from  them  both  towards  the  fire 
place,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  If  he  could  act  his 
madness  out,  she,  at  least,  would  still  be  free  and  alive.  Vero 
nica  stood  still  a  moment  longer,  looking  back. 

"That  is  the  other  piece,"  said  Macomer,  thoughtfully. 
"  Pulcinella  does  not  go  mad  in  this  one.  The  man  has  for 
gotten  the  parts.  It  is  a  pity — it  was  so  amusing." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.     Matilde  did  not  look  round. 

"  I  think  he  will  recover,"  said  Veronica.  "  But  I  am  glad 
you  have  told  the  truth.  I  promise  that  you  shall  be  safe." 

In  a  moment  she  was  gone. 

"  Just  so,"  said  Macomer,  speaking  to  himself.  "  He  forgot 
the  words  of  the  piece,  and  so  he  made  it  end  rather  abruptly. 
Let  us  go  home,  Matilde,  since  it  is  over." 

"  It  is  of  no  use  to  go  on  acting  insanity  before  me," 
answered  Matilde,  with  a  bitter  sigh,  as  she  raised  her  face 
from  her  hands  and  moved  away  from  the  fireplace,  not  looking 
at  him. 

"That  is  the  reason  why  Pulcinella's  wife  disappeared  so 
suddenly,"  he  replied.  "  You  see,  there  are  two  pieces  which 
the  marionettes  act.  In  the  one  which  begins  with  the 
quarrel — " 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  of  no  use  to  do  that ! "  cried  Matilde,  angrily, 
and  beginning  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room,  still  keeping  her 
eyes  from  the  face  she  hated. 

"  How  nervous  you  are  ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  irritation.  "  I 
was  only  trying  to  explain — " 


184  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Oh,  I  know  !  I  know  !  Keep  this  acting  for  the  doctors  : 
You  will  drive  me  really  mad ! " 

"The  doctors?"  He  stared  at  her  and  smiled  childishly. 
"  Oh  no  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  The  doctor  is  in  the  other  piece — 
I  was  going  to  explain — " 

She  turned  with  a  fierce  exclamation  upon  him  and  grasped 
his  arm,  shaking  him  savagely,  as  though  to  rouse  him.  To 
her  horror,  he  burst  into  tears. 

"  You  hurt ! "  he  whined.  "  You  hurt  me  !  Oh,  poor  little 
Gregorio ! " 

He  was  really  mad,  and  there  was  no  more  acting  for  him, 
as  the  tears  streamed  down  his  vacant  face,  which  no  longer 
twitched  at  all. 

His  mind  had  broken  down  under  Veronica's  relentless 
accusation  and  threat  of  vengeance. 

The  miserable  woman's  strength  was  all  but  gone,  when  she 
sat  down,  alone  in  the  room  with  her  mad  husband,  and  once 
more  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

He  whined  and  cried  a  little  while  to  himself,  and  rubbed 
his  arm  where  she  had  taken  hold  so  roughly;  but  presently  his 
tears  dried  again,  and  he  leaned  over  the  end  of  the  couch  on 
his  elbow,  and  above  her  bowed,  veiled  head  he  crooked  his 
fingers  at  each  other,  and  made  his  hands  nod  and  bob  to  each 
other,  like  little  dolls,  laughing  gently,  with  a  chuckle  now  and 
then,  at  the  funny  things  he  heard  Pulcinella  saying  to  his  wife. 

That  was  the  end  of  the  attempt  to  murder  Veronica  Serra, 
and  that  was  the  end  of  the  old  life  at  the  Palazzo  Macomer. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

VERONICA  was  not  only  merciful  but  generous  to  Matilde, 
when  she  finally  set  her  own  fortune  in  order.  Through  Pietro 
Ghisleri  she  found  an  honest  and  discreet  man  of  business, 
whose  fortune  and  good  name  placed  him  above  suspicion,  and 
who  arranged  matters  to  her  satisfaction,  and  as  far  to  her 
advantage  as  was  possible  under  the  circumstances. 

Bosio  had  possessed  a  competency,  which,  as  he  died  intes 
tate,  became  the  inheritance  of  his  brother.  But  the  latter, 
owing  to  the  time  required  for  the  legal  formalities,  had  not 


XVI  TAQUISARA  185 

been  able  to  get  possession  of  the  money  before  he  became 
insane,  and  was  placed  in  an  asylum  at  Aversa,  where  he  was 
probably  to  remain  until  he  died.  Bosio's  little  fortune  remained 
intact,  and  the  use  of  it  reverted  to  Matilde  Macomer.  Vero 
nica  paid  Gregorio's  expenses  at  the  asylum. 

As  for  the  Macomer  property,  she  found  herself  obliged  to 
raise  money  to  meet  the  mortgages  which  were  due  on  the  first 
of  January  after  the  final  catastrophe,  since  Macomer  had  used 
up  her  income  and  left  her  momentarily  in  difficulties.  The 
banker  who  was  managing  matters  for  her  advanced  the  sums 
necessary  out  of  his  private  fortune,  and  the  estate  at  Caserta, 
together  with  the  Palazzo  Macomer  in  Naples,  became  the  pro 
perty  of  Veronica  Serra.  By  the  estimates  made  they  were 
worth  more  than  the  money  raised  upon  them  by  mortgage, 
and  by  the  deeds  of  sale  the  balance  was  to  be  paid  to  Matilde. 
This,  with  Bosio's  property,  was  enough  to  make  her  indepen 
dent,  and,  for  the  time  being,  Veronica  allowed  her  to  live  in 
the  house. 

Lamberto  Squarci  was  called  in  constantly,  as  having  been 
Macomer's  agent.  By  agreement,  Veronica  caused  the  accounts 
of  the  estate  to  be  balanced  from  Macomer's  books,  so  that 
everything  appeared  to  be  in  order,  and  she  formally  took  over 
her  fortune  from  Matilde  and  Cardinal  Campodonico,  who 
knew  nothing  of  the  true  state  of  affairs.  Since  Veronica  knew 
everything  and  was  satisfied,  it  was  not  necessary  that  he  should 
be  informed  of  what  had  taken  place,  and  this  secrecy  was  the 
keeping  of  Veronica's  promise  that  Matilde  should  be  safe. 

When  all  was  settled  upon  a  permanent  basis,  Veronica 
found  herself  still  exceedingly  rich.  Matilde  was  provided  for. 
Gregorio  was  in  the  insane  asylum.  The  cardinal  and  the 
world  at  large  were  in  total  ignorance  of  all  the  truth  except 
the  facts  which  could  not  be  concealed;  namely,  that  Bosio 
Macomer  had  killed  himself  and  that  his  brother  was  mad. 
The  latter  fact  explained  the  former ;  for  everybody  said  that 
there  was  insanity  in  the  family,  and  that  Bosio  had  been  mad, 
too. 

Veronica's  first,  chiefest,  and  most  immediate  difficulty  lay  in 
finding  a  reason  which  she  could  give  Bianca  and  the  cardinal 
for  refusing  to  live  any  longer  with  her  aunt.  She  cared  very 
little  what  society  might  say,  for  she  was  at  once  too  inexperi 
enced  to  attach  the  true  measure  of  importance  to  its  opinion,  or 
to  understand  that  the  unhappy  Princess  Corleone  was  not  in 


i86  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

a  position  to  socially  take  the  place  of  a  chaperon ;  and,  at  the 
same  time,  she  was  too  great  a  personage  to  be  easily  intimidated 
by  the  fear  of  gossip.  Bianca  was  her  friend,  and  to  her  she 
went  unhesitatingly,  feeling  quite  sure  that  she  was  doing  right. 

There  were  people,  however,  who  thought  differently;  first 
among  whom  were  the  cardinal  and  the  Duchessa  della  Spina, 
Gianluca's  mother.  The  cardinal  did  not  return  from  Rome 
until  after  the  first  of  January,  but  the  duchessa  came  to  see 
Veronica  at  Bianca's  villa  within  a  few  days  after  Veronica  had 
left  her  aunt. 

The  good  lady  implored  her  to  return  to  the  countess,  in  the 
name  of  society  or  of  religion,  but  Veronica  was  not  quite  sure 
which  she  invoked,  for  her  language  was  not  very  coherent. 
She  was  not  more  than  five-and-forty  years  of  age,  but  she 
seemed  to  be  already  an  old  woman.  Her  hair  was  grey,  she 
had  lost  many  teeth,  and  she  dressed,  as  Veronica  wickedly 
said  to  Bianca,  like  the  devil's  grandmother.  She  spoke  affec 
tionately,  as  well  as  reprovingly,  however,  having  known  both 
Veronica's  parents,  and  as  having  been  a  third  cousin  of  her 
mother;  and  she  begged  the  young  girl  to  come  and  stay  as 
long  as  she  pleased  at  the  Della  Spina  palace,  as  her  guest 

Veronica  thanked  her,  but  declined  to  change  her  quarters. 
It  was  clear  that  the  duchessa  wished  her  to  marry  Gianluca, 
and  had  by  no  means  given  up  all  hopes  of  the  match.  It  was 
all  the  more  clear,  because  she  never  mentioned  him,  though 
Veronica  knew  that  he  was  no  better;  and  Veronica  herself, 
though  sorry  for  him,  asked  no  questions,  lest  any  inquiry 
should  be  taken  for  a  sign  of  an  inclination  which  she  did  not 
feel.  The  duchessa  smiled  reprovingly  and  shook  her  head 
when  she  went  away.  It  would  have  been  quite  impossible  for 
her  to  explain  to  Veronica  why  she  should  not  remain  longer 
than  necessary  under  Bianca's  roof.  And,  indeed,  the  matter 
might  not  have  been  easy  to  explain.  Veronica  was  glad  when 
she  was  gone. 

The  cardinal  was  not  so  easy  to  deal  with.  He  was  a  man  of 
singular  intensity  of  opinion,  so  to  speak,  when  he  held  any 
fixed  opinion  at  all,  and  he  was  displeased  when  he  learned  that 
Veronica  was  with  his  niece.  On  the  other  hand,  the  fact  that 
Bianca  was  his  brother's  daughter  gave  Veronica  a  weapon 
against  him.  Why  should  she  not  spend  a  month  or  two  with 
the  niece  of  her  former  guardian,  her  old  friend,  the  companion 
of  her  convent  school  days  in  Rome  ?  Would  his  Eminence 


xvi  TAQUISARA  187 

tell  her  why  not  ?  His  Eminence  replied  by  saying  that  he  had 
never  approved  of  Bianca's  marriage ;  that  Prince  Corleone  was, 
in  his  opinion,  as  great  a  good-for-nothing  as  ever  had  appeared 
in  Neapolitan  society,  and  was  at  present  known  to  be  leading 
a  dissipated  life  in  Paris  and  London.  Veronica  answered  that 
all  these  things  were  to  the  discredit  of  Corleone,  but  that 
Bianca  was  to  be  pitied,  since  she  had  been  so  unlucky  as  to 
marry  a  scoundrel,  and  that,  on  the  whole,  it  was  better  that 
Corleone  should  stay  away  from  her,  if  he  could  not  behave 
decently  at  home.  The  cardinal  retorted  that  no  young  girl 
should  stay  two  months  in  the  house  of  any  woman  who  was 
practically  separated  from  her  husband,  for  whatever  reason ; 
and  he  said  that  this  was  an  accepted  tradition  in  society,  and 
that  society  was  not  to  be  despised.  He  was  not  prepared  for 
the  answer  he  received. 

"I  am  Veronica  Serra,"  said  the  young  girl,  with  a  smile. 
"  Society  is  society.  When  we  need  each  other,  we  will  try  and 
agree/' 

This  was  somewhat  enigmatic,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  and  the 
cardinal  was  not  quite  sure  whether  he  understood  it.  He 
should  be  very  sorry,  he  said,  to  think  that  his  old  friend's 
daughter  meant  to  cut  herself  off  from  the  world  in  which  she 
had  so  important  a  part  to  play.  Of  course,  he  had  no  longer 
any  actual  authority  by  which  to  direct  her  actions.  She  was 
of  age,  and  if  she  chose  to  live  alone,  without  so  much  as  an 
elderly  companion,  no  one  could  hinder  her.  To  this  Veronica 
promptly  answered  that  she  had  come  to  Bianca's  house  in 
order  not  to  be  alone. 

"  And  why,"  inquired  the  cardinal,  watching  her  face  keenly, 
"  have  you  determined  that  you  will  no  longer  live  with  your 
aunt  Macomer,  who  is  your  only  near  relative  and  your  natural 
companion  ?  " 

This  was  the  real  question,  and  Veronica  had  hoped  that  he 
would  not  ask  it ;  but  being  a  good  diplomatist,  and  knowing 
how  hard  it  would  be  to  answer,  the  wise  prelate  had  kept  it 
back  as  a  hammer  with  which  to  drive  the  wedges  he  had  pre 
viously  inserted  one  by  one. 

"  I  had  understood  that  you  were  always  the  best  of  friends," 
he  added,  while  she  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  We  have  not  agreed  so  well  lately,"  said  Veronica.  "  Be 
sides,  you  could  hardly  expect  me  to  be  happy  in  a  house  where 
such  horrible  things  have  lately  happened." 


i88  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  You  could  live  somewhere  else,  and  have  your  aunt  with 
you,"  suggested  the  cardinal. 

"  You  do  not  understand  ! "  Veronica  smiled.  "  That  would 
be  quite  impossible.  She  has  always  been  accustomed  to  being 
mistress  in  the  house,  and  if  she  lived  with  me,  she  would  be 
my  guest.  She  would  not  like  to  accept  that  position.  Just 
imagine  !  I  would  not  even  let  her  order  dinner." 

"  You  might  let  her  do  that,  by  way  of  a  compromise,  my 
child." 

"  Oh — but  she  does  it  abominably  !  That  is  one  reason  for 
not  living  with  her  ! " 

The  cardinal  could  not  help  laughing  at  Veronica's  statement 
of  the  case. 

"  I  see,"  he  said.  "  She  poisoned  you  !  "  And  he  laughed 
again. 

"Yes,"  answered  Veronica.  "That  was  exactly  it.  She 
poisoned  us  all." 

She  smiled  to  herself  at  the  terrible  truth  of  the  words  which 
so  much  amused  the  cardinal :  but  she  continued  to  talk  in  the 
same  strain,  giving  him  the  infinity  of  small  reasons,  under 
which  a  clever  woman  will  hide  her  chief  one,  confusing  a 
man's  impression  of  the  whole  by  her  superior  handling  of  its 
parts,  exaggerating  the  one  detail  and  belittling  the  next,  until 
all  proportion  and  true  perspective  are  lost,  and  the  man  leaves 
her  with  the  sensation  of  having  been  delicately  taken  to  pieces, 
and  put  together  again  with  his  face  turned  backwards,  over 
his  shoulders. 

When,  on  leaving  him,  Veronica  deposited  the  traditional 
and  perfunctory  kiss  upon  his  sapphire  ring,  Cardinal  Campo- 
donico  felt  that  his  late  ward  had  been  a  match  for  him  at 
all  points,  and  that  after  all  it  was  not  such  a  great  thing  to  be 
a  man,  if  one  could  not  do  better  than  he  had  done.  If  he  con 
soled  himself  with  the  fact  that  Eve  had  outargued  Adam, 
he  was  mentally  confronted  by  the  reflection  that  Adam  had 
been  a  layman,  and  had  not  been  called  upon  to  sustain  the 
dignity  of  a  cardinal  and  an  archbishop.  He  determined,  how 
ever,  that  he  would  renew  the  attempt  before  long.  If  Veronica 
would  not  leave  Bianca's  villa,  and  live  in  some  other  way, 
he  would  oblige  his  niece  to  cut  the  situation  short  and  go 
away  for  a  journey. 

But  Veronica  had  no  intention  of  quartering  herself  upon  her 
friend  for  any  great  length  of  time ;  and  perhaps,  under  the  cir- 


xvi  TAQUISARA  189 

cumstances,  she  did  the  best  thing  she  could  in  going  directly  to 
her.  Bianca  was  discreet,  and  lived  very  quietly,  receiving  few 
people  and  going  very  little  into  the  world.  The  villa  itself  was 
at  some  distance  from  the  centre  of  Neapolitan  life,  so  that  the 
average  idle  man  or  woman  thought  twice  before  calling,  with 
out  a  distinct  object,  and  merely  for  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  cup-of- 
tea's  worth  of  gossip.  There  was  not  that  constant  coming  and 
going  of  visitors  in  every  degree  of  intimacy  which  might  have 
been  expected  in  the  house  of  a  woman  of  Bianca  Corleone's 
beauty  and  position.  The  world  is  easily  tired  of  unhappy 
people,  and  men  soon  weary  of  worshipping  a  goddess  who 
never  smiles  upon  them.  As  for  the  fact  that  Pietro  Ghisleri 
was  frequently  at  the  villa,  society  refrained  from  throwing  stones, 
in  consideration  of  the  extreme  brittleness  of  its  own  glass 
dwelling.  Ghisleri  was  disliked  in  Naples,  because  he  was 
a  Tuscan;  but  Bianca,  as  a  Roman,  might  have  been  more 
popular. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  she  preferred  the  isolation  she 
enjoyed  to  a  gayer  existence.  To  Veronica  it  seemed  as  though 
she  herself  had  never  before  known  what  liberty  was.  The 
whole  mode  of  life  was  different  from  anything  to  which  she  had 
been  accustomed.  The  villa  was  near  the  country,  and  its  own 
grounds  were  not  small.  Bianca  was  passionately  fond  of  dogs 
and  horses,  for  her  father  bred  horses  on  his  lands  in  the  .Roman 
Campagna,  and  she  had  been  accustomed  to  animals  from  her 
childhood.  She  taught  Veronica  to  ride,  and  the  fearless  young 
girl  was  a  good  pupil.  They  rode  out  together  early  in  the 
morning,  westward,  towards  Baiae,  and  up  to  the  king's  pre 
serves,  and  often  through  some  lands  of  Veronica's  which  lay  in 
the  rich  Falernian  district  within  an  easy  distance.  A  groom 
followed  them.  Ghisleri  very  rarely  joined  the  party. 

Bianca  Corleone  had  another  accomplishment  which  was 
very  unusual  at  that  time,  and  is  still  uncommon,  among  Italian 
women.  She  could  fence,  and  was  fond  of  the  exercise.  She  had 
been  a  delicate  child,  and  it  had  long  been  feared  that  her 
lungs  were  weak,  so  that  she  had  been  encouraged  from  her 
earliest  youth  in  everything  which  could  contribute  towards 
increasing  her  strength.  Her  brother,  Gianforte,  had  even  as  a 
boy  been  a  good  fencer.  He  was  devotedly  attached  to  his  only 
sister,  and  as  she  had  not  gone  to  the  convent  school  until  she 
had  been  fifteen  years  old,  they  had  been  constantly  together 
until  then,  he  being  only  a  couple  of  years  older  than  she. 


190  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

One  day  she  had  taken  up  one  of  his  foils,  laughing  at  the  idea, 
and  had  made  him  show  her  how  to  hold  it ;  and  he  had  forth 
with  amused  her  by  teaching  her  to  fence,  on  rainy  days  in 
Rome,  when  she  could  not  ride.  It  had  seemed  to  do  her 
good,  and  her  father  had  allowed  her  to  have  regular  lessons, 
until  she  could  handle  a  foil  very  fairly,  for  a  girl.  She  herself 
liked  it,  but  she  rarely  alluded  to  it,  regarding  it  as  a  rather 
unfeminine  amusement,  and  being,  at  the  same  time,  a  most 
womanly  woman. 

But  in  her  villa  she  had  a  large  empty  room,  admirably 
adapted  for  fencing,  and  three  times  weekly  a  famous  master 
came  and  gave  her  lessons.  To  her  surprise  Veronica  had 
shown  an  irresistible  desire  to  learn  also,  and  had  insisted  upon 
being  properly  taught  by  the  fencing-master.  The  young  girl  had 
soon  shown  that  she  had  far  more  natural  ability  and  aptitude 
for  the  skilled  exercise  than  Bianca  had  possessed  when  she  had 
first  begun.  Her  lean  young  figure,  long  arms,  and  unusual 
quickness  gave  her  every  advantage  with  a  foil,  and  her  extra 
ordinary  tenacity  and  determination  to  do  well  at  it  helped 
her  to  progress  rapidly.  Before  she  had  practised  two  months, 
though  by  no  means  yet  as  good  as  Bianca,  she  had  been  able 
to  sustain  a  long  bout  with  her  very  creditably  indeed. 

Bianca  had  a  very  different  temperament  and  organization. 
She  was  never  really  strong,  though  exercise  had  developed  her 
strength  to  the  utmost.  She  did  many  things  well,  but  did 
nothing  with  that  sort  of  conviction,  so  to  say,  which  proceeds 
from  conscious  inward  vigour.  When  she  was  not  actually 
riding  or  fencing,  or  doing  something  of  the  sort,  there  was  a 
languor  in  her  movements  and  her  manner  which  told  that  she 
had  no  great  vital  force  upon  which  to  draw.  Those  who 
already  know  something  of  her  story,  will  remember  that  her 
life  was  short  as  well  as  sad. 

She  watched  Veronica  with  interest,  noting  how  suddenly  the 
girl  changed  and  developed  in  her  new  liberty.  She  had  never 
suspected  her  of  many  tastes  and  inclinations  which  now  showed 
themselves  for  the  first  time.  She  found  that  a  certain  sim 
plicity  of  view  and  judgment  which  she  had  set  down  to  girlish 
innocence,  was,  in  reality,  the  natural  bent  of  Veronica's 
character.  There  was  a  fearless  directness  in  the  girl's  ways, 
which  delighted  Bianca  Corleone. 

The  two  young  women  were  alone  one  afternoon,  not  long 
after  Veronica  had  come,  when  Taquisara  and  Gianluca  appeared 


xvi  TAQUISARA  191 

together.  It  was  a  part  of  Bianca's  way  of  showing  her  in 
difference  to  the  world,  to  receive  any  one  who  came,  whenever 
she  was  at  home.  No  one  should  ever  be  able  to  say  that  he 
or  she  had  not  been  admitted  when  Bianca  was  in  the  villa. 

At  the  door  of  the  drawing-room,  Veronica  could  see  that 
Gianluca  tried  to  make  his  friend  enter  before  him,  and  that 
Taquisara  pushed  him  forward,  with  a  little  friendly  laugh  of 
encouragement.  It  happened  that  she  was  seated  just  opposite 
to  the  door.  Gianluca  came  on,  and  went  directly  towards 
Bianca.  He  was  thinner  and  more  transparent  than  ever. 
Veronica  could  almost  fancy  that  she  could  see  the  light  through 
his  face.  She  thought  he  was  slightly  lame ;  or,  at  least,  that 
he  walked  with  a  little' difficulty. 

Bianca  looked  up  kindly,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand,  for  she 
had  always  liked  him.  Taquisara  came  to  her  a  moment  later, 
and  both  men  turned  to  Veronica.  Gianluca  evidently  did  not 
wish  to  sit  down  by  Veronica,  whereas  Taquisara,  in  order  to 
oblige  him  to  do  so,  took  a  chair  on  the  other  side  of  Bianca, 
and  spoke  to  her  at  once.  Gianluca  seated  himself  upon  a  chair 
half-way  between  Bianca  and  Veronica. 

Possibly  Bianca  resented  the  Sicilian's  cool  way  of  forcing  her 
to  talk  with  him,  as  though  he  knew  that  she  should  prefer  to 
do  so.  For  many  reasons  she  was  unduly  sensitive  to  the 
slightest  appearance  of  anything  even  faintly  resembling  a 
liberty.  She  answered  what  he  said,  and  made  a  remark  in  her 
turn ;  but,  without  waiting  for  his  reply,  she  looked  round  at 
Gianluca  and  spoke  to  him,  interrupting  something  which  he 
was  trying  to  say  to  Veronica.  In  almost  any  situation,  such  a 
proceeding  would  have  been  tactless  ;  but  Bianca  had  seen  the 
result  of  the  meeting  between  Gianluca  and  Veronica  on  the 
former  occasion,  and  she  guessed  rightly  that  if  they  were  forced 
into  the  necessity  of  exchanging  commonplaces,  there  would  be 
an  even  more  complete  failure  now  than  there  had  been  before. 
Taquisara  had  thrust  him  upon  Veronica  in  an  excess  of  friendly 
zeal  for  his  interests.  He  kept  his  place  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then,  seeing  Bianca's  intention,  rose  and  went  to  Veronica's  other 
side.  Gianluca  immediately  drew  his  chair  nearer  to  Bianca. 

Veronica  did  not  remember  afterwards  how  the  Sicilian 
opened  the  conversation,  nor  what  she  herself  at  first  said.  In 
spite  of  the  strong  impression  he  had  produced  upon  her  when 
they  had  met  in  the  garden  three  or  four  weeks  earlier,  she  now 
looked  away  from  him,  watching  the  other  two  as  they  talked. 


192  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

She  saw  at  a  glance  that  Gianluca's  manner  with  Bianca  was 
not  at  all  what  it  was  with  herself.  He  looked  ill  and  worn ; 
but  his  face  had  brightened,  his  tone  was  light  and  cheerful,  and 
he  was  evidently  saying  amusing  things,  for  Bianca  laughed 
audibly,  which  was  rare  with  her,  even  when  she  and  Veronica 
were  alone  together.  He  was  at  his  ease ;  instead  of  seeming 
awkward  he  had  an  especial  grace,  beyond  that  of  ordinary 
men ;  instead  of  being  visibly  disturbed  by  the  sound  of  his 
own  voice,  he  appeared  to  be  almost  as  sure  of  himself  and  of 
what  he  was  going  to  say  as  Taquisara. 

Veronica  wondered  why  she  had  never  noticed  him  before, 
except  when  he  was  talking  with  her.  He  was  ill  and  weak,  but 
he  was  undeniably  a  noticeable  man.  She  remembered  all  that 
his  friend  had  said  of  him,  and  her  own  disappointment  after 
her  last  meeting  with  him,  and  she  all  at  once  realized  that  she 
had  only  seen  the  man  at  his  worst.  She  watched  him  narrowly. 
He  must  have  felt  her  eyes  upon  him,  for  he  turned  without 
apparent  reason,  and  met  them.  Instantly  the  blood  mounted 
to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and  he  looked  away  again,  and  stumbled 
and  hesitated  in  the  answer  he  gave  to  what  Bianca  had  last  said. 

But  Veronica  remembered  very  distinctly  his  speeches  to  her, 
and  she  recalled  in  contrast  the  words  Bosio  had  spoken  to  her 
just  before  he  died.  Then  she  turned  her  head,  and  listened 
to  Taquisara. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea,"  replied  the  Sicilian,  with  a 
little  laugh.  "  I  suppose  it  must  have  been  a  compliment,  and 
I  did  not  expect  any  answer,  of  course." 

"I  should  have  thanked  you,  if  I  had  heard  it,"  answered 
Veronica,  smiling  rather  absently,  for  she  was  still  thinking 
of  Gianluca. 

"  A  man  never  expects  thanks  from  a  woman,"  said  Taquisara. 
"  Shall  you  stay  long  with  the  Princess  Corleone  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.     I  have  not  decided.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"Was  I  indiscreet?" 

"  No.  Of  course  not.  I  thought  you  might  have  some  reason 
for  asking." 

"A  general  reason,  perhaps,"  answered  Taquisara.  "You 
have  been  in  trouble.  I  suppose  that  you  have  been  unhappy, 
and  that  you  will  change  your  life  in  some  way — so  I  asked 
what  you  were  going  to  do." 

"As  for  staying  here  or  not,  I  have  not  yet  decided.     But 


xvi  TAQUISARA  193 

what  I  mean  to  do  would  not  interest  you  at  all.  Before  very 
long,  I  shall  probably  go  to  Muro." 

"  To  Muro  !  I  have  often  wished  to  see  the  place  where 
they  murdered  Queen  Joanna." 

"  I  have  never  been  there  myself,  though  it  belongs  to  me," 
answered  Veronica.  "  Her  ghost  has  it  all  to  itself  now.  They 
say  that  she  sits  at  the  head  of  the  grand  staircase,  once  a  year, 
at  midnight,  and  shrieks.  If  you  wish  to  see  Muro,  you  had 
better  go  before  I  am  there,"  she  added,  with  a  smile.  "  I  shall 
be  there  alone,  and  I  could  not  possibly  receive  you,  as  I  could 
not  even  offer  you  a  cup  of  tea,  you  know." 

"  What  an  absurd  institution  society  is,"  observed  Taquisara, 
with  contempt.  "The  priest  says,  'Ego  conjungo  vos';  and 
you  are  licensed  to  snap  your  fingers  at  everything  that  has 
bound  you  until  that  moment,  as  though  the  law  of  your 
marriage  were  your  divorce  from  law." 

"  That  sounds  clever,"  said  Veronica  ;  "  but  I  do  not  believe 
it  is." 

He  laughed,  indifferently ;  and  after  a  moment  or  two,  she 
looked  at  him,  and  smiled. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  be  so  rude,"  she  said. 

So  they  talked  in  small,  objectless  remarks,  and  questions, 
and  answers,  neither  witty  nor  quite  witless ;  but  Veronica  did 
not  refer  to  Gianluca,  and  Taquisara  knew  that  for  the  present 
he  had  better  let  matters  alone.  Presently  Bianca  spoke  across 
to  Veronica,  and  the  conversation  became  general.  In  the 
course  of  it,  Gianluca  spoke  to  Veronica,  and  she  answered 
him,  and  then  asked  him  a  question.  She  was  surprised  to  find 
that,  so  long  as  the  others  were  joining  in  whatever  was  said, 
he  seemed  quite  at  his  ease,  though  his  colour  came  and  went 
frequently.  On  the  whole,  she  had  a  much  better  impression 
of  him  this  time  than  she  had  retained  after  the  former  meeting, 
when  he  had  seemed  so  utterly  helpless  and  shy  in  her  presence. 
But  when  both  men  rose  to  go  away  she  could  not  help  com 
paring  them  again. 

Even  then,  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  comparison  was  less 
unfavourable  to  Gianluca  than  she  had  expected  that  it  must 
be.  He  was  tall  and  well-proportioned,  and  in  spite  of  the 
slight  difficulty  in  walking,  which  she  had  to-day  noticed  for 
the  first  time,  he  was  graceful  and  of  easy  carriage.  His  ex 
treme  languor  in  moving  was,  perhaps,  what  displeased  her  the 
most.  When  he  had  entered  the  room,  she  had  been  annoyed 

N 


194  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

at  his  coming ;  but  now  she  was  rather  sorry,  than  otherwise, 
that  he  was  going  away  so  soon.  Possibly,  as  she  had  expected 
nothing,  she  was  the  more  easily  satisfied.  Taquisara,  too,  had 
disappointed  her.  He  had  talked  very  much  like  any  one  else, 
and  not  at  all  as  he  had  talked  at  that  first  meeting.  Veronica 
felt  that  she  was  indifferent.  Bosio's  untimely  death  had  terribly 
changed  the  face  of  the  world  for  her,  she  thought. 

A  cold  listlessness,  unfamiliar  to  her  nature,  came  over  her 
when  the  two  men  were  gone.  Before  long  Ghisleri  appeared, 
and  there  was  tea  and  more  conversation.  He  was  thought  to  be 
an  agreeable  man,  and  people  said  that  he  talked  well.  Veronica 
wondered  vaguely  what  Bianca  saw  in  him  that  made  her  like 
him  so  much.  But  it  struck  her  that  the  question  had  not  pre 
sented  itself  to  her  before  that  day,  and  that,  on  the  whole,  she 
liked  her  friend's  friend  very  well. 

Presently  she  left  them  to  themselves  in  the  drawing-room 
and  went  to  her  own  room  to  write  a  long  letter  to  Don  Teo- 
doro,  who  was  now  in  Muro,  and  actively  engaged  in  carrying 
out  her  wishes  for  improving  the  condition  of  the  poor  there. 
As  she  wrote,  her  interest  in  life  revived,  after  having  been 
unaccountably  suspended  for  half  an  hour,  and  she  felt  again 
all  her  enthusiasm  for  the  chief  object  she  now  had  in  view. 

Soon  after  this,  too,  she  began  to  examine  the  state  of  the  big 
farms  through  which  she  often  rode  with  Bianca,  asking  ques 
tions  of  the  people  and  entering  into  conversation  with  the  local 
under-steward  when  she  chanced  to  meet  him.  As  was  to  be 
expected,  the  news  that  the  young  princess  now  took  an  active 
interest  in  the  administration  of  her  estates  soon  went  abroad 
amongst  the  peasants.  They  soon  knew  her  by  sight,  and  were 
only  too  ready  to  come  and  stand  at  her  stirrup  and  pour  out 
the  tale  of  their  woes,  since  she  was  condescending  enough  to 
listen.  Sometimes,  if  she  found  a  case  of  anything  like  oppres 
sion,  she  interfered.  Sometimes,  and  this  was  what  more  often 
happened,  she  helped  some  poor  man  with  money — in  order 
that  he  might  be  able  to  pay  his  rent  to  herself.  Bianca 
laughed  once  at  a  charity  of  this  kind,  but  Veronica  held  her 
own. 

"  The  rule  is  for  everybody,"  she  said.  "  They  must  pay  their 
rents,  or  go.  If  I  choose  to  help  those  who  have  had  trouble, 
that  is  my  affair,  and  not  the  business  of  the  under-steward 
with  whom  they  have  to  do.  Besides,  if  the  rent  is  remitted 
this  year,  they  will  expect  the  same  thing  in  the  future,  whereas 


xvi  TAQUISARA  195 

they  know  that  a  little  money  is  a  passing  charity  on  which 
they  cannot  count  with  certainty.  The  less  publicity  there  is 
about  charity,  the  more  of  self-respect  remains  to  those  who 
profit  by  it." 

Bianca  glanced  sideways  at  Veronica's  face  as  the  latter 
finished  speaking,  and  she  felt  that  the  girl  was  not  cast  in  the 
same  mould  as  herself. 

"  I  wonder  whether  you  will  ever  marry,"  she  said,  thought 
fully,  after  a  short  pause, 

"  Why  ?     What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  "  asked  Veronica. 

"  Your  husband  will  find  that  it  has  a  great  deal  to  do  with 
it,  my  dear,"  Bianca  answered,  with  a  smile,  and  speculating 
upon  the  possible  fate  of  the  Princess  of  Acireale's  future 
husband. 

"  Oh, — of  course,  I  should  not  let  him  interfere  in  anything 
of  this  kind,"  said  Veronica,  gravely.  "  He  should  not  come 
between  me  and  my  people." 

She  sat  very  straight  on  her  horse,  and  the  girl's  small  head 
and  aquiline  features  had  a  dominating  expression.  A  strug 
gling  man,  with  such  a  look,  is  a  man  who  means  to  win,  and 
generally  does,  whatever  the  nature  of  the  race  may  be. 

"  But  I  shall  never  marry,"  Veronica  added,  presently,  and 
her  face  softened  as  she  thought  of  the  dead  betrothed. 
"There  is  plenty  to  do  in  the  world,  without  marrying,  if  one 
will  only  do  it." 

"If  you  do  not,  there  will  be  one  free  man  more  in  the 
world,"  answered  Bianca. 

Veronica  laughed  a  little. 

"  I  daresay  I  should  have  my  own  way,"  she  said. 

The  longer  Veronica  stayed  with  her,  the  more  thoroughly 
was  Bianca  convinced  of  this,  and  she  wondered  why  it  should 
have  taken  her  so  long  to  discover  that  the  quiet,  sallow-faced, 
gentle-mannered  little  girl,  whom  she  had  first  known  at  the 
convent  school,  was  developing  a  character  which  might  some 
day  astonish  every  one  who  should  attempt  to  oppose  her.  It 
had  been  a  growth  of  strength,  with  an  accentuation  of  wilful- 
ness,  and  it  had  not  been  at  all  apparent  at  first. 

So  they  lived  quietly  together,  in  spite  of  the  Cardinal  Cam- 
podonico's  objections  and  arguments,  and,  little  by  little, 
Veronica  became  quite  used  to  her  absolute  independence  of 
plan  and  action,  and  the  idea  of  taking  an  elderly  gentlewoman 
for  a  companion  grew  more  and  more  distasteful  to  her. 


196  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Meanwhile  her  aunt  was  living  all  alone  at  the  Palazzo 
Macomer.  Many  communications  passed  between  the  two, 
about  matters  of  business,  during  the  earlier  weeks  after  their 
final  separation,  but  they  did  not  meet.  As  neither  of  them 
ever  went  into  the  world,  it  was  extremely  improbable  that  they 
should  meet  at  all,  except  by  agreement. 

Gianluca  came  to  the  villa  again,  ten  days  after  the  visit 
last  spoken  of.  And  after  that  he  came  often,  at  irregular 
intervals,  generally  once  or  twice  a  week.  The  first  dis 
appointing  impression,  which  Veronica  had  retained  so  long, 
gradually  wore  away,  and  she  liked  him  very  much  better  than 
she  had  ever  thought  possible.  Bianca  never  left  the  two 
alone  together.  She  felt  more  than  ever  responsible  for  Vero 
nica,  now,  and  bound  to  observe  the  customs  and  traditions  in 
which  both  had  been  brought  up.  She  was  wise  enough  to 
know,  too,  that  after  such  an  unlucky  beginning,  it  would  be 
better  for  Gianluca  if  a  long  time  passed  before  he  had  another 
chance  of  pouring  out  his  heart  to  the  young  girl.  Things 
might  go  by  contraries,  she  thought.  Contempt  might  turn  to 
familiarity,  familiarity  to  friendship,  and  friendship  to  love. 
The  first  change  had  already  taken  place,  and  the  others  might 
come  in  time. 

Before  the  spring  came,  Veronica  knew  that  Taquisara  had 
not  been  guilty  of  exaggeration  in  describing  his  friend's  char 
acter.  Gianluca  was  all  that  his  friend  had  painted  him,  and 
perhaps  more.  Unfortunately,  he  was  not  at  all  the  kind  of 
man  whom  Veronica  would  ever  be  inclined  to  fancy  for  a 
husband.  It  was  easy  for  her  to  respect  him,  as  she  came  to 
know  him  better ;  it  would  have  been  hard  not  to  like  him,  but 
it  seemed  impossible  to  her  that  she  should  ever  love  him. 

Taquisara  came  very  rarely — not  more  than  three  or  four 
times  in  the  course  of  the  winter.  He  came  alone,  and  did  not 
stay  long.  Veronica  saw  that  he  avoided  her  on  those  few 
occasions,  and  preferred  to  talk  with  Bianca,  though  she  was 
sometimes  aware  that  he  was  looking  at  her  earnestly,  when 
her  eyes  were  half  turned  from  him. 

Gianluca  seemed  to  grow  a  little  stronger  towards  the  spring. 
At  least,  he  was  less  transparently  thin ;  but  the  difficulty  he 
had  in  walking  was  more  apparent  than  before. 


XVII  TAQUISARA  197 


CHAPTER  XVII 

As  Gianluca's  spirits  revived,  and  he  began  to  take  courage 
again  and  find  new  hope  that  Veronica  might  marry  him  after 
all,  her  position  as  a  permanent  guest  in  Bianca's  house  became 
a  subject  of  especial  displeasure  to  the  Delia  Spina  family. 
They  wished  to  renew  their  proposals  for  a  marriage,  and  they 
found  themselves  stopped  by  the  fact  that  Veronica  was  no 
longer  under  the  charge  of  any  relative  to  whom  they  could 
have  communicated  their  offer. 

No  one  knew  exactly  what  had  happened  before  Christmas 
at  the  Palazzo  Macomer  excepting  the  persons  concerned ;  but 
there  is  inevitably  a  certain  amount  of  publicity  about  all 
business  transactions  connected  with  real  estate,  and  somehow 
a  story  had  filtered  from  the  financial  to  the  social  world,  which 
more  or  less  explained  Veronica's  conduct.  It  was  said  that 
Gregorio,  whom  most  people  had  detested,  had  mismanaged 
her  fortune,  though  nothing  was  hinted  about  any  great  fraud ; 
and  people  added  that  when  the  day  of  reckoning  had  come  he 
had  found  himself  ruined,  and  had  lost  his  mind ;  Matilde,  as 
guardian,  had  incurred  the  young  princess's  displeasure,  but  the 
latter  had  treated  her  generously,  allowing  her  to  live  in  the 
palace,  which  was  now  undoubtedly  Veronica's  property.  Some 
persons  told  a  story  of  an  attempt  made  by  a  servant  to  poison 
the  Macomer  household,  but  the  majority  laughed  at  the  tale, 
and  said  that  Gregorio  had  been  too  poor,  or  too  stingy,  to 
have  his  copper  saucepans  properly  tinned,  and  that  a  grain 
of  verdigris  would  poison  half  a  regiment,  as  every  Italian 
knows. 

However  that  might  be,  no  one  was  responsible  for  Veronica, 
but  Veronica  herself,  unless  Cardinal  Campodonico  still  had 
some  authority  over  her,  which  seemed  more  than  doubtful. 
The  old  Duca  made  him  a  formal  visit,  and  a  formal  proposi 
tion.  His  Eminence  smiled,  looked  grave,  smiled  again,  and 
replied  that  in  a  long  and  varied  experience  of  the  world  he 
could  not  remember  to  have  met  with  just  such  a  case ;  that 
so  far  as  he  could  understand,  the  young  Princess  of  Acireale 
was  her  own  mistress,  and  would  make  her  own  choice,  if 
she  made  any;  but  that  she  had  been  heard  to  say  that  she 
would  never  marry  at  all.  This,  however,  the  cardinal  thought 
impossible. 


198  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Then,"  said  the  Duca  della  Spina,  "  you  advise  me  to  go 
directly  to  the  young  lady  and  ask  her  whether  she  will  marry 
my  son." 

"  My  friend,"  replied  the  cardinal,  "  this  is  a  case  in  which  I 
would  rather  not  give  advice.  I  have  no  doubt  that  whatever 
you  do  will  be  well  done,  and  I  wish  you  all  possible  success." 

The  old  Duca  shuffled  out  of  the  cardinal's  study,  more 
puzzled  than  ever,  and  went  home  to  tell  his  wife  and  Gianluca 
and  Taquisara  the  result  of  the  interview.  Taquisara  was  in 
the  confidence  of  the  family,  and  spent  much  of  his  time  with 
his  friend. 

"  I  am  at  my  wits'  end,"  concluded  the  old  nobleman,  shaking 
his  head,  and  looking  sorrowfully  at  his  son.  "  If  you  wish  it, 
I  will  go  to  Donna  Veronica  myself.  It  would  be — well — very 
informal,  to  say  the  least.  Poor  Gianluca !  My  poor  boy  !  If 
you  would  only  be  satisfied  to  marry  your  cousin  Vittoria,  it 
would  be  a  question  of  days  !  Of  course — I  understand — her 
complexion  is  an  obstacle,"  he  added,  reflectively.  "It  will 
probably  improve,  however." 

No  one  answered  him.  Taquisara  broke  the  silence,  after  a 
pause. 

"  You  must  either  speak  to  the  Princess  Corleone,"  he  said, 
"or  Gianluca  must  speak  to  Donna  Veronica  for  himself." 

Gianluca  said  nothing  to  him,  but  by  a  glance  he  reminded 
his  friend  of  his  former  attempt.  So  they  came  to  no  con 
clusion,  though  it  was  clear  that  Veronica  now  liked  Gianluca 
quite  enough,  in  their  opinion,  to  marry  him  at  once.  But  he 
himself,  remembering  his  discomfiture,  knew  that  the  time  had 
not  yet  come,  though  he  had  hopes  that  it  might  not  be  far  off. 
On  that  very  day  he  went  to  Bianca's  villa,  and  stayed  an  un 
reasonably  long  time,  in  the  hope  that  Ghisleri  might  appear, 
for  he  found  Bianca  and  Veronica  alone.  Pietro  would  have 
talked  with  Bianca,  and  he  himself  would  have  had  a  chance, 
perhaps,  to  judge  of  his  actual  position.  He  was  no  longer  shy 
and  awkward,  now,  when  he  was  with  the  young  girl.  But 
Ghisleri  did  not  come,  and  Gianluca  went  home,  disappointed 
and  disconsolate. 

"  I  suppose  that  if  we  were  in  Sicily,"  he  said  to  Taquisara  on 
the  following  morning,  "  you  would  propose  to  carry  her  off  by 
force.  You  once  advised  me  to  do  something  of  the  sort." 

"  That  is  a  proceeding  which  needs  the  consent  of  the  lady," 
answered  the  Sicilian.  "  The  *  force '  is  employed  against  the 


XVII  TAQUISARA  199 

relations.  Now  Donna  Veronica  has  none  to  speak  of  so  far 
as  I  can  see.  It  is  a  case  for  persuasion." 

Gianluca  sighed.  Matters  were  at  a  deadlock,  and  Veronica 
had  announced  her  intention  of  going  to  Muro  alone,  before 
long.  Once  established  there,  she  might  stay  in  the  mountains 
until  the  following  autumn,  unapproachable  in  her  maiden 
solitude,  as  she  had  told  Taquisara.  Gianluca  might  knock  at 
her  gate,  there,  but  he  would  certainly  not  be  admitted. 

"  You  despise  me,"  he  said  to  his  friend.  "  You  think  me 
weak  and  helpless,  and  you  fancy  that  if  you  were  in  my  place 
you  could  do  better.  But  I  do  not  believe  you  could." 

"No,"  replied  the  other.  "I  do  not  believe  so,  either. 
And  I  do  not  at  all  despise  you.  You  have  only  one  chance — 
to  make  her  love  you.  No  man  is  to  be  despised  because  a 
woman  does  not  love  him.  It  is  not  his  fault." 

"  I  feel  as  though  it  were,"  said  Gianluca.  "  I  am  sure  that 
if  I  could  change,  if  I  could  make  myself  different  in  some 
way — but  that  is  absurd,  of  course." 

"  One  cannot  suddenly  become  some  one  else."  For  himself, 
without  vanity,  Taquisara  was  probably  glad  of  the  fact,  but  he 
was  sincerely  sorry  for  his  friend.  "You  might  write  to  her," 
he  suggested. 

"Love-letters — to  Donna  Veronica?"  Gianluca  smiled,  in 
credulously.  "  You  do  not  know  her  ! " 

"  I  know  her  a  little,"  replied  Taquisara.  "  All  women  like 
to  receive  letters  from  men  who  love  them,  if  they  are  well 
expressed  and  sincere." 

"  How  horribly  practical  you  are  sometimes  ! "  exclaimed  the 
younger  man,  unaccountably  irritated  at  his  friend's  generaliza 
tions. 

Taquisara  laughed  and  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  long  black 
cigar. 

"  You  came  to  me  for  advice,  not  for  sentiment,"  he  observed, 
presently.  "  Perhaps  I  am  a  bad  adviser,  but  that  is  the  worst 
you  can  say  of  me.  I  daresay  I  do  not  understand  women.  I 
have  known  a  few  pretty  well,  but  that  is  all.  I  am  not  a  lady 
killer,  and  I  certainly  never  wished  to  marry.  You  must  not 
expect  much  of  me — but  what  little  there  is  to  expect  will  be 
practical.  Perhaps  Ghisleri  could  advise  you  better  than  I. 
He  is  a  queer  fellow.  If  he  ever  cuts  his  throat,  he  will  not  die 
of  it — his  heart  and  his  head  will  go  on  living  separately,  just 
as  they  do  now." 


200  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Gianluca  smiled  again,  for  the  description  of  the  man  was 
keen  and  true,  as  men  knew  him. 

"No,"  he  answered;  "I  shall  not  consult  Ghisleri.  You 
and  I  are  different  enough  to  understand  each  other.  He  and 
I  are  not,  though  he  is  a  good  friend  of  mine." 

"  I  should  not  say  that  you  resemble  Ghisleri  in  any  way," 
observed  Taquisara,  bluntly. 

"  You  may  not  see  it,  but  I  feel  it.  It  is  not  easy  to  explain. 
He  and  I  feel  about  many  things  in  the  same  way,  but  we  look 
at  ourselves  differently." 

"  That  sounds  like  a  woman's  speech ! "  said  Taquisara. 
"  But  you  are  always  making  fine  distinctions  which  I  cannot 
understand.  What  do  you  mean  when  you  say  that  you  look 
at  yourselves  differently  ?  How  do  you  look  at  yourselves  ?  " 

"  Do  you  never  think  about  yourself,  as  though  you  were 
another  person,  and  were  judging  yourself  like  a  man  you 
knew?" 

"  No,"  said  Taquisara,  thoughtfully.  "  I  never  thought  of 
doing  that." 

"  But  what  does  self-examination  mean,  then  ?  "  asked  Gian 
luca. 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea.  I  am  myself.  I  know  myself. 
I  know  what  I  want  and  do  not  want.  It  seems  to  me  that  I 
know  enough.  What  in  the  world  should  I  examine?  You 
would  be  much  better  if  you  could  get  rid  of  all  that  romance 
about  conscience  and  self-examination  and  such  trash.  A  man 
knows  perfectly  well  whether  he  is  faithful  to  the  woman  he 
loves  or  not,  whether  he  is  betraying  his  friend  or  standing  by 
him — what  else  do  you  want?  I  believe  that  theology  and 
philosophy  and  self-examination,  and  all  that,  were  invented  in 
early  times  for  heathen  people  who  did  not  know  whether  they 
were  doing  right  or  wrong,  because  they  were  just  converted." 

At  this  extraordinary  view  of  church  history  Gianluca  laughed. 

"You  may  laugh,"  answered  the  Sicilian.  "You  will  never 
make  me  believe  that  old  Tancred  sat  up  all  night  examining 
his  conscience  before  he  went  to  the  Holy  Land — any  more 
than  he  fasted  and  prayed  before  he  had  his  daughter's  lover 
murdered." 

"  No — perhaps  not !  "     Gianluca  laughed  again. 

"  He  did  what  struck  him  as  right  and  natural,"  said  Taqui 
sara,  gravely.  "  Besides,  he  was  sovereign  prince  in  his  own 
land,  and  it  was  not  a  murder  at  all,  but  an  execution.  For  a 


xvn  TAQUISARA  201 

princess,  his  daughter  behaved  outrageously.  I  should  have 
done  the  same  thing,  in  his  place.  He  had  the  right  and  the 
power,  and  he  used  it.  But  that  is  not  the  point.  As  for 
Ghisleri,  he  would  have  cut  the  boy's  head  off  in  a  rage,  and 
then  he  would  have  spent  a  year  on  his  knees  in  a  monastery. 
You  would  have  prayed  yourself  into  a  good  humour,  and 
the  fellow  would  have  got  off." 

"  Unless  I  had  asked  your  advice,"  suggested  Gianluca. 

"And  if  you  had,  you  would  not  have  acted  upon  it — any 
more  than  you  will  write  to  Donna  Veronica  now,  though  I  tell 
you  that  all  women  like  to  receive  love-letters.  It  is  natural. 
A  woman  is  not  satisfied  with  being  told  once  a  week  that  she 
is  loved.  She  likes  to  know  it  all  the  time — the  oftener,  the 
better.  Two  letters  of  one  page  are  better  than  one  of  two 
pages.  Twenty  notes  a  day,  of  a  line  or  two  each,  will  make  a 
woman  perfectly  happy — provided  that  you  do  not  make  a 
mistake  and  send  one  less  on  the  day  following.  They  like 
repetition,  provided  it  is  in  the  same  pitch.  If  you  have  begun 
high,  you  must  not  let  the  strings  slacken.  Women  are  curious 
creatures.  In  religion,  they  can  believe  fifty  times  as  much  as 
any  man.  In  love,  they  only  believe  while  they  see  you  and 
hear  you.  As  soon  as  your  back  is  turned — even  if  they  have 
sent  you  away — they  scream  and  cry  out  that  you  have  aban 
doned  them.  Before  you  come,  they  want  you.  When  you 
are  there,  you  weary  them.  When  you  are  gone,  you  have 
betrayed  them.  And  they  wonder  that  a  man  cannot  bear  that 
sort  of  thing  forever  !  Do  you  call  me  practical  for  speaking  in 
this  way  ?  Very  well,  then — I  am  practical.  I  tell  you  what  I 
know." 

Gianluca  was  amused,  but  he  thought  over  what  Taquisara 
had  advised  him  to  do,  and  the  more  he  thought  about  it,  the 
more  inclined  he  was  to  follow  the  advice.  Not  that  he 
regarded  the  writing  of  letters  to  Veronica  at  all  as  a  hopeful 
means  of  moving  her;  but  he  felt  that  he  might  write  her 
much  which  he  would  not  say.  He  loved  her  with  the  deepest 
sincerity,  and  with  an  almost  morbid  passion,  and  the  idea  of 
approaching  her  in  any  way  was  irresistible.  He  had  not 
realized  before  now  that  he  could  at  least  try  the  experiment  of 
writing.  She  knew  that  he  loved  her,  and,  at  the  worst,  she 
might  tell  him  not  to  write  again.  He  remembered  his  terrible 
awkwardness  and  hesitation  when  he  had  first  told  her  of  his 
love,  and  his  humiliation  afterwards,  when  he  had  reflected  upon 


202  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

the  poor  figure  he  had  made.  There  would  be  no  humiliation, 
now.  He  was  sure  of  that.  He  could  rely  upon  his  pen  and 
his  wits,  though  he  could  not  trust  to  his  wits  with  only  his 
tongue  to  help  them. 

The  chief  objection  to  this  method  of  wooing  was  that,  in 
his  class,  it  was  untraditional.  And  this  had  some  weight  with 
him,  for  he  had  been  brought  up  rigidly  in  the  practices  and 
customs  of  an  exclusive  caste.  On  the  other  hand,  he  had 
never  thought  of  plunging  rashly  into  love-phrases,  from  the 
first.  He  wished  to  establish  a  correspondence  with  Veronica, 
and  then  by  subtle  tact  and  delicate  degrees  to  acquire  the 
right  of  speaking  to  her,  by  his  letters,  of  what  he  felt,  making 
no  reference  to  them  when  he  met  her,  until  she  should  at  last 
give  some  sign  that  she  would  listen  favourably. 

The  plan  was  wise  and  far-sighted,  but  it  had  not  been  the 
result  of  wisdom  nor  of  diplomatic  instinct.  He  adopted  it 
out  of  delicacy,  and  out  of  respect  for  the  woman  he  loved,  and 
in  the  hope  of  reaching  her  heart  without  ever  jarring  upon  her 
sensibilities. 

By  nature  and  talent,  as  well  as  by  cultivation,  Gianluca  was 
admirably  gifted  for  such  a  correspondence  as  he  now  attempted 
to  begin.  In  other  circumstances  of  fortune,  he  might  have 
become  eminent  as  a  man  of  letters.  Without  possessing  any 
of  that  practical,  masculine  knowledge  of  women,  which  Taqui- 
sara  so  roughly  expressed,  Gianluca  had  a  keen  and  sure 
understanding  of  the  feminine  mind.  There  is  no  contradiction 
in  that,  for  the  men  who  know  something  of  women's  hearts  by 
instinct  and  experience  are  by  no  means  always  those  who  are 
in  intellectual  sympathy  with  them.  Very  young  women  are 
sometimes  surprised  when  they  discover  this  fact,  but  men 
generally  know  it  of  one  another ;  and  the  man  of  whom  other 
men  are  jealous  is  rarely  the  one  who  prides  himself  upon 
knowing  and  sympathizing  with  the  feminine  point  of  view  on 
things  in  general,  from  literature  to  dress. 

Gianluca  had  talked  with  Veronica  about  all  sorts  of  sub 
jects,  and  she  had  often  asked  him  questions  which  he  had  not 
been  able  to  answer  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  It  was  easy 
for  him,  in  his  first  letter,  to  hark  back  to  one  of  those  idle 
questions  of  hers,  and  to  make  his  reply  to  it  an  excuse  for  a 
letter.  Such  a  communication  would  need  no  acknowledgment 
beyond  a  spoken  word  of  thanks,  which  she  would  bestow 
upon  him  the  next  time  they  met.  It  should  contain  nothing 


xvn  TAQUISARA  203 

warmer  than  the  assurance  of  his  anxiety  to  be  of  service  to 
her,  in  anything  she  undertook,  and  a  protestation  of  respectful 
friendship  at  the  end. 

He  wrote  that  first  letter  over  twice  and  read  it  carefully 
before  he  sent  it.  It  referred  to  an  historical  question  con 
nected  with  the  house  of  Anjou,  from  which  her  castle  of 
Muro  had  come  to  the  Serra  by  a  marriage  several  centuries 
ago,  and  by  which  marriage  Veronica  traced  her  descent  on  one 
side  to  the  kings  of  France.  The  castle  itself  had  been  twice 
the  scene  of  royal  murders,  and  there  were  many  strange 
traditions  connected  with  it.  Gianluca  got  the  information  he 
needed  from  the  library  downstairs,  and  he  found  ample 
material  for  a  letter  of  some  length. 

But  it  was  not  dry  and  uninteresting,  a  mere  copy  of  notes 
taken  from  histories  and  chronicles.  The  man  had  an  un 
developed  literary  talent,  as  has  been  said,  and  he  instinctively 
found  light  and  graceful  expressions  for  hard  facts.  He  was 
himself  discovering  that  he  had  a  gift  for  writing,  and  the 
pleasure  of  the  discovery  enhanced  the  delight  of  writing  to  the 
woman  he  loved.  The  man  of  letters  who  has  first  found  out 
his  own  facility  in  the  course  of  daily  writing  to  a  dearly  loved 
woman  alone  knows  the  sort  of  pleasure  that  Gianluca  enjoyed, 
when  he  found  that  it  was  his  pen  that  helped  him,  and  not  he 
that  was  driving  his  pen. 

He  sent  what  he  had  written,  and  determined  that  on  the 
following  day  he  would  go  to  the  villa  again.  To  his  surprise 
and  joy,  he  received  a  note  from  Veronica  in  the  morning, 
thanking  him  warmly  for  the  pains  he  had  taken,  and  asking 
another  question.  It  came  through  the  post;  and  with  his 
insight  into  feminine  ways,  he  guessed  that  she  had  not  wished 
to  send  a  messenger  to  him, — a  servant,  who  would  have  at 
once  told  other  servants  of  the  correspondence. 

Veronica  had  been  pleased  by  the  letter.  She  was  beginning 
to  like  him  for  himself,  and  to  forget  how  very  foolish  he  had 
seemed  to  be  when  he  was  declaring  his  passion  for  her.  But 
his  letter  showed  him  all  at  once  in  an  entirely  new  light,  and 
was  at  once  a  pleasure  and  a  surprise.  She  thought  it  natural 
to  write  him  a  few  words  of  thanks.  Indeed,  it  would  have 
seemed  rude  not  to  do  so. 

In  the  liberty  she  was  enjoying  in  Bianca's  house,  she  was 
rapidly  forgetting  that  she  was  only  a  young  girl,  and  that 
society  would  be  shocked  if  it  knew  that  she  was  exchanging 


204  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

letters  with  Gianluca  della  Spina.  There  is  nothing  which  a 
girl  learns  so  easily  and  all  at  once  as  independence  of  that 
social  kind.  What  grey-haired  man  of  the  world  has  not  at  one 
time  or  another  been  amazed  at  the  full-grown  assurance  of 
some  bride  of  eighteen  or  nineteen  summers?  A  month  is 
enough — with  proper  advantages — to  make  a  drawing-room 
queen  and  a  society  tyrant  of  a  schoolgirl.  And  that  sort  of 
independence  is  not  alone  the  result  of  marriage.  In  Veronica's 
case,  a  slowly  developed  strength  had  been  suddenly  set  free 
to  act,  by  an  accidental  emancipation  from  all  semblance  of 
restraint ;  and  the  emancipation  was  so  complete  that  even  in 
the  widest  interpretation  of  the  law,  no  one  could  have  now 
claimed  a  right  to  control  or  direct  her  actions. 

She  was  nearly  twenty-two  years  of  age ;  she  had  a  great 
position  in  her  own  right,  and  she  was  immensely  rich.  It  was 
not  until  long  afterwards  that  she  learned  how  many  offers  of 
marriage  had  been  refused  for  her  by  her  aunt  and  uncle.  For 
the  present,  the  fathers  and  mothers  of  marriageable  sons  were 
waiting  until  three  or  four  months  should  have  elapsed,  for  they 
generally  guessed  that  there  had  been  a  catastrophe  of  some  sort 
at  the  Palazzo  Macomer  after  Bosio's  death ;  and,  moreover,  as 
has  been  seen,  it  was  impossible  to  ascertain  the  proper  person 
to  whom  to  address  any  such  proposal. 

The  consequence  of  it  all  was,  that  Veronica  was  absolutely 
her  own  mistress,  and  free  to  go  and  come,  and  to  do  what 
seemed  right  in  her  own  eyes.  As  she  had  told  the  cardinal, 
when  she  and  society  should  discover  that  they  needed  each 
other,  they  would  try  and  agree.  In  case  of  a  disagreement,  it 
was  probable  that,  of  the  two,  society  would  yield  to  Veronica 
Serra.  Meanwhile  she  would  correspond  with  Gianluca,  if  she 
pleased.  During  the  arrangement  of  her  affairs,  she  had  con 
stantly  written  to  men,  about  business,  under  the  advice  of  the 
bankers  to  whom  she  had  confided  the  whole  matter.  Gianluca 
was  merely  a  few  years  younger,  and  happened  to  belong  to  her 
own  class.  That  was  all.  Why  should  he  and  she  not  write  to 
each  other?  Yet  it  was  not  long  since  the  idea  of  meeting 
Gianluca  at  Bianca's  house,  by  agreement,  had  seemed  a 
dangerous  adventure,  about  entering  upon  which  she  had  really 
hesitated.  To-day,  for  any  reasonable  cause,  she  would  have 
walked  through  Naples  with  him  in  the  face  of  the  world,  at  the 
hour  when  every  one  was  in  the  streets. 

He  came  to  the  villa  in  the  afternoon,  after  receiving  her  note 


xvn  TAQUISARA  205 

of  thanks,  and  she  was  glad  to  see  him,  and  spoke  with  pleasure 
of  his  letter,  before  Bianca,  who  seemed  surprised,  but  said 
nothing  at  the  time.  He  was  wise  enough  not  to  stay  too  long, 
and  he  went  away  exceedingly  elated  by  his  first  success. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  asked  Veronica,  of  her 
friend,  just  after  he  had  left  them.  "He  seems  so  much 
better — but  he  is  growing  very  lame.  Did  you  notice  how  he 
walked  to-day  ?  He  seems  to  drag  his  feet  after  him." 

"He  must  have  hurt  his  foot,"  said  Bianca,  calmly.  "By 
the  by,  what  is  this,  about  letters  ?  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
he  writes  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes — and  I  write  to  him,"  answered  Veronica,  with  perfect 
calm.  "  You  see,  as  I  have  nobody  to  ask,  I  ask  nobody.  It 
is  more  simple." 

"  But,  my  dear  child — a  young  girl — " 

"  Do  not  call  me  a  child,  and  do  not  call  me  a  young  girl, 
Bianca,"  said  Veronica.  "  I  am  neither,  in  the  sense  of  being 
a  thing  to  be  kept  under  a  glass  case  and  fed  on  rose  leaves. 
I  am  a  woman,  and  as  I  do  not  think  that  I  shall  ever  marry, 
I  refuse  to  be  chaperoned  all  the  way  to  old-maidhood.  I 
know  that  you  feel  responsible  for  me,  in  a  sort  of  way,  because 
you  are  married,  and  I  am  not.  It  is  really  absurd,  dear.  I  am 
much  better  able  to  take  care  of  myself  than  you  are." 

"  No  doubt,  in  a  way.  You  are  more  energetic.  But  as  for 
writing  to  Gianluca — I  hardly  know — I  wish  you  would  not." 

"He  writes  very  well,"  answered  Veronica.  "I  will  show 
you  his  letter.  Besides,  so  far  as  your  responsibility  goes,  it 
will  not  last  much  longer.  I  shall  go  to  Muro  next  month." 

"Alone?" 

"  Alone — yes.  I  always  mean  to  live  alone.  Don  Teodoro 
will  come  and  dine  with  me  every  evening,  and  we  will  talk 
about  the  people,  and  what  we  are  doing  for  them.  I  shall 
have  horses  to  ride.  If  you  will  come,  we  will  fence  together. 
I  shall  miss  the  fencing  dreadfully.  Could  you  not  come, 
Bianca  dear?" 

"I  believe  that  you  will  miss  the  fencing  more  than  me, 
dear,"  answered  Bianca,  rather  sadly. 

Veronica  was  more  to  her  than  she  could  ever  be  to  Veronica, 
and  she  knew  it. 

"  Bianca ! "  exclaimed  the  young  girl,  "  how  can  you  say 
such  things  !  Because  I  spoke  of  fencing  first  ?  You  know 
that  I  did  not  mean  it  in  that  way  !  I  want  you  for  yourself — 


2o6  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

but  it  will  be  nice  to  have  the  foils  in  the  morning,  all  the 
same.  You  see,  I  could  not  even  have  a  fencing-master  out 
there.  It  is  so  far  !  Do  come." 

Bianca  shook  her  head. 

•"We  will  have  glorious  days  together,"  continued  Veronica. 
"  We  will  do  all  sorts  of  things  together.  They  do  say  that  it 
rains  a  good  deal  in  those  mountains — well,  when  it  rains,  you 
can  write  to  Signer  Ghisleri,  while  I  write  to  Don  Gianluca." 

Her  innocent  laughter  at  the  idea  startled  Bianca,  and  the 
beautiful  face  grew  paler,  until  it  was  almost  wan.  Veronica 
thought  she  was  like  a  passion  flower,  just  then.  A  short  silence 
followed. 

"Veronica,"  said  Bianca,  at  last,  "why  do  you  not  marry 
Gianluca,  since  you  have  grown  to  liking  him  so  much  ?  " 

"  I  like  him  for  a  friend,"  answered  Veronica,  quietly.  "  I  do 
not  want  a  husband.  Some  day,  I  will  tell  you  my  story, 
perhaps — some  day,  if  you  will  come  to  Muro,  dear.  Think 
about  it." 

She  left  the  room  rather  abruptly,  and  Bianca  did  not  refer 
to  the  subject  again.  She  had  the  power,  rare  in  either  of  two 
friends,  of  not  asking  questions.  Confidence  given  for  the 
asking,  however  readily,  is  but  the  little  silver  coin  of  friend 
ship  ;  the  gold  is  confidence  unasked. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Gianluca  wrote  to  Veronica  again 
and  again,  about  all  manner  of  subjects  which  had  come  up  in 
their  conversation ;  and  Veronica's  short  notes  of  thanks  grew 
longer,  until  she  found  that  she,  too,  was  beginning  to  write 
real  letters,  and  looked  forward  to  writing  them,  as  well  as  to 
receiving  his.  And  his  came  oftener,  until  she  had  one  almost 
every  day. 

But  when  he  came,  as  he  did,  twice  a  week,  to  the  villa,  they 
rarely  spoke  of  their  correspondence.  Somehow  it  had  come  to 
be  a  bond  linking  certain  sides  of  their  natures  which  they  did 
not  show  to  each  other  when  they  met  and  talked.  They  never 
could  talk  as  freely  as  they  wrote,  even  upon  the  most  indifferent 
subjects,  though  Gianluca  seemed  perfectly  at  his  ease  in  con 
versation.  There  was  a  sort  of  undefined  restraint  from  time  to 
time,  together  with  the  certainty  that  they  would  write  what  they 
really  meant,  within  a  day  or  two,  and  understand  each  other  far 
better  than  by  spoken  words. 

In  Gianluca's  case  such  a  condition  of  things  was  natural 
enough.  He  felt  that  she  understood  friendship  when  he 


xvn  TAQUISARA  207 

meant  love,  and  he  was  aware 'that  he  was  progressing  slowly 
but  surely  towards  the  freedom  to  say  what  was  always  in  his 
heart,  while  his  success  must  depend  upon  his  wisdom  and  tact 
in  not  surprising  her  with  a  declaration  of  passion,  in  the  midst 
of  a  discussion  upon  church  history  or  modern  systems  of 
charity.  Compared  with  what  he  had  felt  in  their  former  rela 
tions,  he  was  happy,  now,  beyond  his  utmost  expectations ;  and 
in  the  relative  happiness  he  had  found,  he  was  willing  to  be 
patient,  rather  than  to  risk  anything  prematurely. 

It  was  more  strange,  perhaps,  that  Veronica  should  regard 
this  growing  intimacy  as  she  did,  for  she  had  no  under-thought 
of  a  future  change  to  something  else,  as  he  had  and  she  was 
naturally  simple  in  reasoning  and  direct  in  action.  Yet  she 
could  not  but  be  aware  that  there  was  a  sort  of  duality  in  their 
friendship,  and  she  never  confused  the  ideas  they  exchanged 
when  in  the  one  state — that  is  to  say,  when  writing — with  those 
about  which  they  talked  when  an  actual  meeting  brought  them 
into  the  other.  The  one  state  already  was  an  intimacy;  the 
other  was  hardly  yet  more  than  a  pleasant  acquaintance,  writh 
the  memory  of  a  disagreeable  beginning.  Such  curiosities  of 
human  intercourse  are  more  easily  understood  by  those  who 
have  met  with  them  in  life  than  explained  to  those  who  have 
not.  The  facts  were  plain.  When  Veronica  and  Gianluca  were 
together  in  Bianca's  drawing-room,  they  said  nothing  which 
might  not  have  been  heard  with  indifference  by  all  Naples. 
When  they  wrote  to  each  other  they  spoke  of  themselves,  of 
their  real  thoughts  about  things  and  people,  of  their  belief,  and, 
to  some  extent,  of  their  feelings. 

Veronica  did  not  perhaps  acknowledge  that,  little  by  little, 
Gianluca's  letters  were  beginning  to  fill  the  place  of  poor  Bosio's 
conversation  in  former  times.  But  that  was  what  was  taking 
place.  She  was  more  lonely  in  mind  than  in  heart,  and  without 
making  the  slightest  pretence  to  talent  or  unusual  cultivation, 
she  craved  a  mental  companionship  of  some  sort  to  take  up 
the  thread  where  it  had  been  broken.  She  had  found  it  un 
expectedly  in  her  new  friend's  letters,  and  she  recognized  it 
and  clung  to  it,  as  to  something  almost  necessary  in  her  exist 
ence.  When  she  was  ready  to  go  up  to  Muro,  she  knew  that 
without  those  letters  life  in  such  a  solitude  would  be  well  nigh 
unsupportable,  whereas,  being  able  to  look  forward  to  them, 
and  to  answering  them,  her  hours  of  idleness  were  already  a 
foretasted  pleasure. 


2o8  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

She  had  not  even  told  the  cardinal  that  she  was  going,  and 
she  was  going  alone.  In  Naples  this  seemed  so  incredible  that 
after  she  was  gone,  people  spontaneously  invented  a  companion 
for  her,  and  assured  one  another  that  she  had  sent  for  a  distant 
and  elderly  old-maid  cousin  as  a  chaperon  and  protectress. 
Even  the  cardinal  believed  it,  taking  it  almost  for  granted. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  before  her  departure  Gianluca 
came,  walking  with  difficulty  and  excusing  himself  for  bringing 
his  stick  with  him  into  the  drawing-room.  He  was  very  pale, 
and  looked  more  ill  than  for  a  long  time  past.  But  he  spoke 
calmly  enough,  though  saying  little  more  than  was  required, 
while  Bianca  and  Veronica  kept  up  the  conversation.  Veronica 
was  in  good  spirits,  and  was  evidently  looking  forward  to  the 
journey  with  pleasure  and  curiosity. 

Then  Ghisleri  appeared,  followed  shortly  by  Taquisara,  who 
had  called  very  rarely  during  the  winter.  Veronica  thought 
that  he  had  grown  very  cold  and  silent.  He  slowly  stirred 
a  cup  of  tea  which  he  did  not  drink,  and  he  scarcely  joined  in 
the  conversation  at  all.  He  looked  occasionally  at  one  or 
another  of  the  party,  and  once  or  twice  his  eyes  fixed  them 
selves  on  Veronica's  face.  She  could  not  understand  why  his 
presence  chilled  her,  but  she  was  aware  that  she  spoke  more 
coldly  than  usual  to  Gianluca. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  the  latter  rose  to  go,  glancing  at 
Veronica  as  he  did  so.  Taquisara,  on  pretence  of  setting  down 
his  teacup,  rose  also  and  managed  to  place  himself  in  front 
of  Bianca,  and  said  something  to  which  Ghisleri  gave  an  answer, 
just  as  Veronica  and  Gianluca  were  standing  close  together. 

"  May  I  go  on  writing  to  you  ?  "  asked  Gianluca,  in  a  low 
tone  and  quickly. 

Veronica  looked  up  at  him  with  a  startled  expression. 

"  Oh  please — please  ! "  she  answered,  anxiously.  "  As  often 
as  you  can — I  count  on  it !  Of  course  ! " 

Gianluca's  thin,  pale  face  brightened  suddenly  as  he  heard 
her  vehement  request  and  the  anxiety  in  her  tone. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said.     "  Good-bye." 

He  shook  hands  with  Bianca,  nodded  to  the  two  men,  and 
turned  away  towards  the  door.  He  had  not  reached  it,  walking 
a  little  less  painfully  in  his  excitement,  when  he  was  aware  that 
he  had  left  his  stick  leaning  against  the  chair  in  which  he  had 
sat  He  stopped  and  looked  back  to  be  sure  that  it  was  there, 
before  returning  to  get  it.  Veronica  was  watching  him,  saw 


xvii  TAQUISARA  209 

what  he  had  done,  picked  up  the  stick  and  carried  it  swiftly  to 
him  before  he  could  come  for  it. 

Taquisara  had  seen  her  movement  and  had  tried  to  get  the 
stick  before  she  could,  to  take  it  to  his  friend.  He  had  been 
too  far  out  of  reach,  and  she  had  been  before  him.  But  he 
followed  her,  and  he  saw  that  as  she  handed  Gianluca  his 
property,  she  looked  up  into  his  face  and  smiled  very  kindly. 
Gianluca  thanked  her,  smiling  too,  and  the  impression  any  one 
would  have  had  was  that  they  thoroughly  understood  each 
other.  He  bowed  again  and  went  out.  Veronica  turned  to 
come  back  to  the  tea-table  and  found  herself  facing  Taquisara's 
fiery  eyes.  She  was  surprised,  and  looked  into  his  face,  very 
near  to  him,  and  waiting  for  him  to  stand  aside. 

"  You  are  playing  with  him,"  he  said,  in  a  low  and  angry 
voice. 

The  room  was  long,  and  Bianca  and  Ghisleri  were  at  the 
other  end  of  it.  After  he  had  spoken,  Veronica  stared  at  him 
a  moment,  in  genuine  amazement  at  his  words  and  manner. 
Then  her  eyes  gleamed,  too,  and  the  delicate  nostrils  quivered. 

"You  are  insolent,"  she  said,  coldly,  and  turning  a  little 
to  the  right,  she  passed  him. 

"  No.  I  am  his  friend,"  he  answered,  scarcely  above  a 
whisper,  as  she  went  by. 

He  came  back,  shook  hands  with  Bianca,  bowed  coldly  to 
Veronica,  and  left  the  room  within  two  minutes  after  Gianluca. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Taquisara  ?  "  asked  Ghisleri,  care 
lessly.  "  He  seems  irritable." 

Bianca  looked  at  Veronica. 

"  Does  he?     I  suppose  he  is  anxious  about  Don  Gianluca." 

Veronica  was  still  pale  when  she  spoke,  but  the  tone  was 
cold  and  indifferent. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

VERONICA  had  felt  herself  mortally  insulted  by  Taquisara's 
manner,  much  more  than  by  his  words,  though  they  had  been 
offensive  enough.  Her  impression  of  the  man  was  completely 
changed,  in  a  moment,  and  she  hoped  that  she  might  never  see 
him  again,  so  long  as  she  lived.  It  had  been  one  thing  to 

o 


210  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

praise  Gianluca  to  her,  and  to  press  his  suit  for  him ;  it  was 
quite  another  to  lie  in  wait  for  her,  as  it  were,  at  the  end 
of  a  drawing-room,  and  to  reproach  her  brutally  and  angrily 
with  wishing  to  break  Gianluca's  heart.  As  she  thought  of  his 
eyes,  and  his  face,  and  his  low  voice,  she  grew  pale  with  anger 
herself,  at  the  mere  memory  of  his  insolence. 

It  did  not  strike  her  that  there  could  be  any  truth  in  his 
accusation.  Gianluca  was  old  enough  to  take  care  of  himself. 
Was  Taquisara  his  nurse,  his  keeper,  his  doctor  ?  Gianluca  was 
not  making  love  to  her  in  his  letters,  nor  was  she,  in  hers,  en 
couraging  him  to  do  so.  She  was  angry  at  the  thought  that  the 
Sicilian  should  know  anything  of  their  correspondence,  as  it 
seemed  evident  that  he  must.  It  was  true  that  her  own  friend, 
Bianca,  knew  something  about  it.  She  could  forgive  Gianluca, 
if  he  had  confided  too  much  in  Taquisara,  but  she  could  not 
forgive  Taquisara  for  having  been  the  recipient  of  the  con 
fidence,  and  she  would  neither  forgive  nor  forget  the  way  in 
which  he  had  shown  her  how  much  he  knew. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Veronica  longed  to  be  a  man, 
that  she  might  not  only  resent  the  insult,  but  have  satisfaction 
of  the  man  who  had  insulted  her.  She  felt  that  she  was  em 
phatically  not  playing  with  Gianluca,  as  Taquisara  had  expressed 
it.  She  had  told  him  frankly,  several  months  earlier,  that  she 
could  not  love  him, — she  had  shaken  her  head  and  had  said 
that  she  was  sorry, — and  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  had  a  right 
to  suppose  that  she  was  now  changing  her  mind.  Since  Gian 
luca  was  apparently  willing  to  accept  the  position  and  to  be  her 
friend,  it  was  nobody's  affair  but  his  and  hers.  She  felt  that  she 
had  been  fully  justified  in  what  she  had  said  to  Taquisara.  At 
the  same  time  she  was  half  conscious  of  being  disappointed  in 
the  man,  and  of  being  wounded  by  the  disappointment. 

She  left  Bianca's  house  early,  and  as  she  drove  away  to  the 
railway  station  alone  with  Elettra,  she  felt  that  her  life  was  only 
now  really  beginning.  The  months  of  independence  she  had 
enjoyed  had  prepared  her  for  this  final  move.  In  the  course  of 
setting  her  affairs  in  order,  she  had  been  brought  face  to  face 
with  a  side  of  the  world  which  few  women  ever  see  or  under 
stand,  and  her  character  had  hardened  singularly  to  meet  the 
difficulties  she  had  found  in  her  path.  She  probably  over 
estimated  the  strength  she  had  now  acquired;  for  more  than 
once,  on  the  way  to  the  station,  she  felt  a  momentary  reaction 
of  timidity  and  a  longing  to  go  back  and  stay  a  few  days  more 


xvni  TAQUISARA  211 

with  Bianca.  She  laughed  bravely  at  herself  for  her  weakness, 
and  told  herself  that  she  was  going  to  her  own  place,  to  be  sur 
rounded  by  her  own  people,  that  she  was  two-and-twenty  years 
of  age,  and  had  been  through  troubles  during  the  past  months 
which  had  proved  her  strength.  Nevertheless  the  fact  remained 
that  she  was  a  very  young,  unmarried  woman,  that  she  was 
going  to  live  alone,  and  that  she  was  breaking  through  the  whole 
hard  shell  of  fossilized  social  tradition.  Even  Elettra,  born 
a  peasant  of  the  mountains,  thought  her  mistress's  decision 
amazingly  bold,  though  she  approved  of  it  in  her  heart,  and  had 
been  ready  to  go  to  Muro  with  Veronica  long  ago. 

"What  would  your  father,  blessed  soul,  have  said,  Excel 
lency  ?  "  she  asked,  when  they  were  seated  together  in  the  train 
which  was  to  take  them  to  Eboli,  beyond  Salerno. 

"  Shall  I  send  for  the  Countess  Macomer  ?  "  asked  Veronica, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Heaven  preserve  us  from  her  ! "  exclaimed  Elettra,  and  she 
crossed  herself  hastily,  and  then  made  the  sign  of  the  horns 
with  her  fingers,  against  the  evil  eye,  and  with  her  other  hand 
touched  a  coral  charm  which  she  had  in  her  pocket. 

Veronica  had  long  been  in  correspondence  with  Don  Teodoro 
about  the  arrangements  for  her  coming.  He  had  expected  that 
she  would  bring  a  staff  of  servants  from  Naples  with  all  the 
paraphernalia  of  a  great  establishment.  She  had  replied  that 
she  intended  to  employ  only  her  own  people,  and  meant  to  live 
very  simply.  He  suggested  that  she  should  send  a  quantity  of 
new  furniture,  as  the  apartments  in  the  castle  had  not  been  in 
habited  for  nearly  twenty  years,  but  Veronica  answered  that  she 
needed  no  luxuries,  and  repeated  that  she  meant  to  live  very 
simply  indeed.  She  sent  her  saddle  horse  and  two  pairs  of 
strong  cobs  with  two  country  carriages  and  a  coachman — a  very 
young  man,  who  had  served  in  Gianluca's  regiment  and  had 
been  his  man.  He  was  to  find  a  man  in  Muro  to  help  him  in 
the  stables,  and  he  was  the  only  servant,  not  a  native,  whom  she 
meant  to  employ.  Don  Teodoro  had  kept  ten  people  at  work 
for  a  month  in  cleaning  the  vast  old  place.  Veronica  had  sent 
also  a  box  of  books,  some  linen  and  silver,  and  her  fencing 
things — for  she  still  hoped  that  Bianca  would  pay  her  a  visit. 

The  journey  by  rail  occupied  between  four  and  five  hours, 
but  it  did  not  seem  so  long  to  her.  She  was  surprised  at  the 
excitement  she  felt,  as  she  passed  station  after  station  and 
watched  the  changing  sights  and  the  mountains  that  loomed  up 


212  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

in  the  foreground,  while  those  behind  her  dwindled  in  the 
distance.  She  had  travelled  very  little  in  her  life,  since  she  had 
come  back  from  Rome. 

On  the  platform  of  the  little  station  at  Eboli,  Don  Teodoro 
was  waiting  for  her.  His  tall  bent  figure  and  enormous  nose 
made  him  conspicuous  at  a  distance,  and  she  could  see  the  big 
silver  spectacles  anxiously  searching  for  her  along  the  row  of 
carriage  windows.  As  the  door  was  opened  for  her  she  waved 
her  handkerchief  to  the  old  priest,  with  a  little  gesture  of  happy 
enthusiasm,  high  above  her  head,  and  he  saw  her  immediately 
and  came  forward,  three-cornered  hat  in  hand.  She  suddenly 
loved  the  smile  with  which  he  greeted  her. 

"  You,  at  least,  do  not  think  that  I  am  mad  to  come  to  Muro, 
do  you  ?  "  she  asked,  standing  beside  him  on  the  platform  while 
Elettra  was  handing  out  her  smaller  belongings. 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  the  old  man.  "  You  are  coming  to 
take  care  of  your  own  people,  and  it  is  a  good  deed.  Good 
deeds  generally  seem  eccentric  to  society — and  considering  their 
rarity,  that  is  not  extraordinary." 

He  smiled  again,  and  Veronica  laughed. 

"  Your  carriage  is  here,"  said  Don  Teodoro.  "  May  I  take 
you  to  it  ?  Will  you  give  me  the  tickets,  Elettra  ?  They  take 
them  at  the  gate." 

Veronica  felt  a  new  thrill  of  joyous  freedom  and  independ 
ence,  as  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  set  her  little  foot  upon 
the  step  of  her  own  carriage,  and  glanced  at  the  simple,  well- 
appointed  turnout.  The  coachman  sat  alone  in  the  middle  of 
the  box,  a  broad-shouldered,  clean-shaven  young  fellow  of 
six-and-twenty,  in  a  dull  green  livery  with  white  facings — the 
colours  of  the  Serra. 

"You  would  not  even  have  a  footman,"  observed  Don 
Teodoro. 

"  No — not  I ! "  she  laughed,  still  standing  in  the  carriage. 
"How  are  the  horses  doing,  Giovanni?"  she  asked  of  the 
coachman.  "  Are  they  strong  enough  for  the  work  ?  " 

"They  are  good  horses,  Excellency,"  the  man  answered. 
"  They  need  work." 

"  And  how  is  Sultana  ?  "  inquired  the  young  girl,  who  had 
not  seen  the  mare  for  several  days. 

"  The  mare  is  well,  Excellency." 

Veronica  made  Don  Teodoro  sit  beside  her,  and  Elettra 
installed  herself  opposite  them,  with  her  mistress's  bags  and 


xvin  TAQUISARA  213 

other  things.     The  luggage  was  piled  on  a  cart  which  was  to 
follow,  and  they  drove  away. 

"  I  sent  the  carriage  down  yesterday,"  observed  Don  Teodoro. 
"  I  came  by  the  coach  this  morning." 

"  Is  it  so  far  ?  "  asked  Veronica,  whose  ideas  about  the  posi 
tion  of  her  property  were  still  uncertain,  for  it  had  never  struck 
Elettra  that  her  mistress  did  not  know  how  far  it  was  from 
Eboli  to  Muro. 

"  It  is  over  thirty  miles,"  answered  the  priest,  with  a  smile. 
"We  are  beyond  civilization  in  Muro — we  are  in  the  province 
of  Basilicata.  But  there  are  little  towns  on  the  way,  and  you 
must  stop  to  rest  the  horses  and  to  eat  something.  It  will  be 
almost  dark  when  you  get  home." 

"  Home  ! "  repeated  Veronica,  thoughtfully. 

A  confused  vision  rose  in  her  mind,  of  an  imaginary  room, 
looking  down  from  a  height  upon  a  town  below — a  room  in 
which  she  would  live  altogether,  with  her  books  and  her  favourite 
objects  and  the  companionship  of  her  favourite  ideas  and  plans, 
all  of  which  were  to  be  realized  and  executed  in  the  course  of 
time.  She  fancied  herself  gazing  down  from  the  wide  window 
upon  what  was  almost  all  hers,  upon  the  dwellings  of  people 
who  lived  upon  her  land,  who  pastured  her  flocks  and  drove 
her  cattle,  living,  moving,  and  having  being  as  integral  animate 
parts  of  her  great  inheritance ;  children  of  men  and  women 
whose  fathers'  fathers  had  laboured  in  old  days  that  she  might 
have  and  enjoy  the  fruits  of  so  much  toil,  who  had  given  much 
and  from  whom  had  often  been  taken  even  that  which  they  had 
not  been  bound  fairly  to  give ;  who  had  received  nothing  in 
return  for  generations  of  blood  and  bone  worn  out,  dried  up, 
and  consumed  to  dust  in  the  service  of  the  great  house  of  Serra. 
They  had  a  right  to  her,  as  she  had  a  right  to  the  lands  on  which 
they  lived.  There  was  much  talk  of  rights,  Veronica  thought, 
nowadays,  and  those  who  had  none  were  privileged  to  speak 
the  loudest  and  to  be  heard  first.  But  those  who,  having  right 
on  their  side,  were  blinded  and  smitten  dumb  by  the  enormous 
despotism  of  their  self-styled  betters — by  the  glare  and  noise  of 
blatant  power  in  possession — they  were  the  ones  who  really  had 
rights,  and  if  she  could  give  any  of  them  a  single  hundredth 
part  of  what  was  their  due,  she  should  be  glad  that  she  had 
lived.  Wealth,  she  thought,  should  not  be  an  accumulation, 
but  a  distribution,  of  goods.  Charity  should  no  longer  mean 
alms,  nor  should  poverty  be  pauperism.  In  the  young,  whole- 


214  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

hearted  simplicity  of  her  desire  to  do  good,  it  seemed  likely 
that  she  might  soon  be  a  specimen  of  the  strangest  of  all 
modern  anomalies — the  princely  socialist.  It  was  certainly  in 
her  power  to  try  almost  any  experiment  which  suggested  itself, 
and  on  a  scale  which  might  ultimately  prove  something  to 
herself  and  others. 

It  was  not  that  she  meant  to  study  political  economy,  or 
socialism,  nor  to  give  the  name  of  an  experiment  to  anything 
she  did.  She  had  been  struck  by  the  practical  necessity  for 
doing  something,  when  Don  Teodoro  had  first  written  to  her 
about  the  condition  of  the  people  in  Muro,  and  her  own  obser 
vations  made  on  her  farms  in  the  Falernian  district — one  of 
the  richest  corners  of  vine  land  in  all  Italy — had  convinced  her 
that  some  sort  of  action  was  urgently  necessary.  And  if,  in  the 
midst  of  such  riches,  the  Falernian  peasants  were  half  starved, 
what  must  be  the  state  of  the  people  on  her  lands  in  the 
Basilicata  ?  Don  Teodoro  had  drawn  her  an  accurate  picture, 
full  of  those  plain  details  which  carry  more  tnan  the  weight  of 
their  mere  words.  Something  should  be  done  at  once.  She 
had  given  him  power  and  money  to  help  the  very  poorest, 
before  she  came ;  but  her  common  sense  told  her  that  the  evil 
lay  too  deep  in  the  soil  to  be  reached  by  a  light  shower  of 
silver — or  even  by  a  storm  of  gold  rain. 

Inventors,  great  or  small,  are  rarely  theorists ;  the  invention 
must  be  suited  to  the  necessity,  before  all  things,  and  the  theory 
may  come  afterwards  if  anybody  cares  for  it.  For  a  theory  is 
nothing  but  an  attempted  explanation,  and  the  fact  must  exist 
before  it  can  possibly  need  explaining.  Bread  is  a  great  inven 
tion  against  hunger,  and  a  man  needs  to  know  nothing  about 
the  gastric  juices  to  save  himself  from  starvation  when  the  loaf 
is  in  his  hand.  Veronica  meant  to  put  the  loaves  where  they 
were  needed,  within  reach  of  those  who  needed  them. 

As  she  was  driven  through  the  rugged  country  on  that  May 
afternoon,  she  felt  that  she  had  a  future  before  her,  that  she 
was  going  into  action,  and  leaving  stagnation  behind,  and  that 
her  own  life,  which  was  to  be  her  very  own,  was  just  beginning. 
It  was  to  be  a  life  quite  different  from  the  existence  of  any  one 
she  knew,  for,  unlike  the  lives  of  her  friends,  hers  was  to  have 
an  integral  independent  existence  of  its  own,  with  one  deter 
mined  object  for  all  its  activity. 

The  months  she  had  passed  in  Bianca's  house  had  rather 
strengthened  than  weakened  the  unfonnulated  resolution  which 


xvm  TAQUISARA  215 

she  had  first  vaguely  reached  in  the  dark  days  after  Bosio's 
death.  There  had  been  much  solitude,  and  many  rides  and 
drives  into  the  country  with  her  beautiful,  silent  friend;  and 
there  had  been  very  little  contact  with  the  world  to  disturb  the 
onward  current  of  her  thoughts.  More  than  all,  the  first 
breath  of  liberty  after  long  restraint  had  enlarged  and  widened 
her  determination  to  be  always  free,  in  spite  of  the  world,  and 
society,  and  the  drone  of  the  busybodies'  gossip.  In  her 
heart,  the  memory  of  Bosio  had  grown  in  dignity,  till  it  was 
solemn  and  imposing  out  of  all  proportion  with  what  the  man 
himself  had  been,  even  as  Veronica  had  known  him.  To 
know  the  truth  of  what  his  real  life  had  been  would  have 
shaken  her  own  to  its  foundations.  But  there  was  no  fear  of 
that ;  and  now,  her  chief  companion  was  to  be  the  priest  who 
had  loved  him  as  a  friend.  Possibly  that  last  fact  had  even 
influenced  her  a  little  in  her  final  determination  to  live  at 
Muro,  rather  than  in  any  other  of  four  or  five  equally  habitable 
or  uninhabitable  places  which  she  owned,  and  where  she  might 
have  begun  her  work  under  circumstances  quite  as  favourable 
to  success. 

She  had  thought  very  little  of  any  need  she  might  feel  for 
relaxation  and  amusement,  and  she  was  very  far  from  realizing 
what  that  solitude  meant,  which  she  was  seeking  with  so  much 
enthusiasm.  She  had  never  yet  been  as  much  alone  as  she 
should  have  liked  to  be,  and  she  could  not  imagine  that  she 
might  possibly  become  tired  of  playing  the  princess  in  the 
tower  for  months  together,  with  only  the  company  of  one 
learned  old  ecclesiastic  as  her  sole  diversion.  The  vision  of 
home  which  she  evoked  was  always  the  same,  but  she  did  not 
even  know  whether  the  castle  had  a  room  which  looked  down 
upon  the  little  town.  She  imagined  but  a  single  room ;  the 
rest  was  all  a  blank.  She  had  been  told  that  it  was  a  great  old 
fortress,  with  towers  and  halls  and  courts,  gloomy,  grand,  and 
haunted  by  the  ghosts  of  murdered  kings  and  queens ;  but  the 
slight  descriptions  she  had  heard  produced  no  prevision  of  the 
reality  as  compared  with  what  she  really  wanted  and  was  sure 
that  she  should  find. 

She  thought  of  Gianluca,  as  the  carriage  rolled  along  through 
the  lower  hills,  and  she  looked  forward  with  pleasure  to  writing 
about  what  she  saw  and  expected  to  see.  It  seemed  probable 
that  she  would  write  even  longer  letters  to  him,  now  that  she 
was  to  be  quite  alone,  and  she  hoped  that  his  would  be  as 


216  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

interesting  as  ever.  She  thought  again  with  anger  of  Taqui- 
sara's  extraordinary  conduct,  for  she  was  positively  sure  that 
she  was  not  playing  with  his  friend  in  any  sense  of  the  word. 
The  very  suggestion  would  have  been  insulting,  if  he  had  made 
it  in  the  most  carefully  guarded  and  tactful  language.  As  he 
had  put  it,  it  had  been  nothing  short  of  outrageous. 

Gianluca  must  be  blind  indeed,  she  assured  herself,  if  he 
fancied  that  she  meant  more  than  friendship  by  the  constant 
exchange  of  letters  with  him.  It  might  be  eccentric ;  it  might 
be  looked  upon  as  utterly  and  unpardonably  unconventional, 
but  it  could  never  be  regarded  as  a  flirtation  by  letter.  The 
proof  of  that,  Veronica  argued  to  herself,  was  that  both  of 
them  knew  that  it  was  nothing  of  the  sort,  a  manner  of  begging 
the  question  familiar  to  those  who  wish  to  do  as  they  please 
without  hindrance  from  within  or  without. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  roads  were  good,  for  it  was  the  month  of  May.  In  winter, 
even  Veronica's  strong  horses  could  hardly  have  dragged  the 
light  carriage  to  its  destination  in  one  day.  It  was  but  little 
after  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Veronica  got  out  upon 
the  platform  of  the  railway  station  at  Eboli ;  it  was  sunset,  and 
the  full  moon  was  rising,  when  her  carriage  stopped  at  the 
entrance  of  the  mountain  town. 

It  had  been  a  very  long  day,  and  she  had  seen  much  that 
was  quite  new  to  her,  and  different  from  what  she  had  expected. 
At  first,  indeed,  she  was  amazed  at  the  richness  of  the  country 
beyond  Eboli,  as  she  was  driven  for  nearly  an  hour  through 
what  was  literally  a  forest  of  ancient  olive  trees,  interrupted 
only  here  and  there  by  a  broad  field  of  vines,  cut  low  and 
trained  upon  short  stakes ;  and  from  the  rising  ground  beyond 
Carpella,  where  the  road  winds  up  the  first  hill,  she  looked 
back  and  saw  the  shimmering  grey-green  light  of  the  olive 
leaves,  lying  like  a  delicate  mantle  over  the  flat  country  and  in 
the  great  hollow,  from  Eboli  to  the  deep  gorge  wherein  the 
ancient  city  of  Campania  lies  as  in  a  nest.  A  part  of  the  olive 
land  was  hers ;  and  as  she  drove  along,  the  midday  breeze  blew 
some  of  the  tiny,  star-like  olive  blossoms  into  her  lap.  She 


XIX  TAQUISARA  217 

took  one  in  her  fingers  and  looked  at  it  closely  and  could  just 
smell  its  very  faint,  aromatic  odour. 

"It  is  the  first  greeting  from  what  is  yours,"  said  Don 
Teodoro,  with  a  smile. 

"  The  wind  brings  me  my  own  flowers,"  answered  Veronica, 
and  she  laughed  softly  and  happily. 

Up  steep  hills  and  down  into  deep  valleys,  across  high, 
arched  stone  bridges,  beneath  which  the  water  of  the  Sele 
was  streaming  fast  and  clear  amid  white  limestone  boulders  and 
over  broad  reaches  of  white  pebbles  that  were  dazzling  in  the 
sun — and  the  olive  trees  were  left  behind,  and  here  and  there 
were  patches  of  big  timber,  oaks  to  which  the  old,  brown  leaves 
still  clung  in  the  spring,  and  many  poplars  straight  and  feathery 
with  leaves  but  yet  half  grown.  But  the  land  was  by  degrees 
less  rich  and  less  cultivated,  till  gradually  it  changed  to  a  rough 
and  stony  country,  and  even  from  far  off  Veronica  could  see  the 
little  flocks  of  sheep  dark  brown  and  white,  and  small  herds  of 
cloud-grey  cattle,  pasturing  and  moving  slowly  on  the  hillsides 
above  and  below  the  winding  road. 

She  looked  at  the  shepherds  when  they  were  near  enough  for 
her  to  see  them.  As  she  had  left  Eboli,  she  had  seen  one, 
driving  a  flock  of  sheep  along  the  high  road,  and  she  had 
wondered  whether  there  were  many  of  his  kind.  He  was  a 
magnificently  handsome  young  fellow  of  two  or  three  and 
twenty,  dressed  in  loose  brown  velveteens,  with  a  belted  jacket 
and  a  spotless  shirt,  strong,  well-made  shoes,  leathern  gaiters, 
and  a  flat  cap,  and  he  carried  the  traditional  hatchet  of  the 
southern  shepherd.  He  strode  along  with  a  light  and  easy  gait, 
and  looked  more  like  a  young  gentleman  in  a  rather  eccentric 
but  well-made  shooting-dress,  than  like  a  herdsman.  But  he 
was  from  Eboli  itself,  and  a  native  would  have  told  her  that  the 
people  of  Eboli  were  "  exceedingly  fanatic  about  dress."  The 
men  and  the  clothes  she  now  saw  were  very  different;  tall, 
grim  figures  in  vast  and  often  ragged  brown  cloaks  that  reached 
almost  to  their  feet ;  small,  battered,  pointed  hats ;  rough, 
muddy  hose  that  should  have  once  been  white ;  shoes  that 
loaded  their  steps  like  lead ;  and  they  moved  slowly,  with  bent 
heads,  rough,  long-unshaven  faces,  eyes  too  hollow,  horny  hands 
too  lean — wild,  half-fed  creatures,  worse  off  than  the  flocks  they 
drove,  by  all  the  degrees  of  the  inverse  ratio  between  man,  who 
needs  man's  help,  and  beast,  that  needs  only  nature. 

There  was  that  same  grimness — there  is  no  other  word — in 


218  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

the  faces  of  almost  all  the  people  Veronica  now  met,  as  the 
road  wound  higher  and  then  descended  through  Oliveto,  the 
first  of  the  mountain  villages.  There  was  in  them  all  the  look 
of  men  and  women  who  know  that  the  struggle  is  hopeless,  but 
who  will  not,  or  cannot,  die  and  be  at  rest.  There  was  the 
expression  of  those  who  will  no  longer  make  any  effort  except 
for  the  bare,  hard  bread  that  keeps  them  above  ground,  and 
who,  having  toiled  through  the  terrible  daylight  that  is  their 
cruel  task-master,  lie  down  as  they  are,  when  work  is  done,  to 
forget  daylight  and  life  if  they  can,  in  a  mercifully  heavy  sleep. 
But  before  their  bones  are  half  rested,  the  pitiless  day  is  upon 
them,  and  drives  them  out  to  labour  again  till  they  are  stupid 
with  weariness  and  only  not  faint  enough  to  faint  and 
forget. 

The  people  sometimes  stood  still  and  stared  at  the  young 
princess  as  she  drove  by,  with  the  old  priest  beside  her.  But 
the  majority  went  on,  indifferent  and  far  beyond  anything  like 
interest  or  curiosity.  Only  the  shepherds'  great  cur  dogs,  of  all 
breeds  and  colours,  but  always  big  and  fierce,  barked  furiously 
at  the  carriage  and  plunged  furiously  after  it,  pulling  up 
suddenly  and  turning  back  with  a  growl  when  they  had  followed 
it  for  half  a  minute.  The  women,  in  ragged  black  or  dark 
checked  skirts,  with  torn  red  woollen  shawls  hanging  from  their 
heads,  glanced  sidelong  at  Veronica,  when  they  were  still 
young ;  but  the  older  ones  went  by  without  giving  her  a  look, 
their  leathern,  Sibylline  faces  set,  their  old  lids  wrinkled  by 
everlasting  effort  till  they  almost  hid  the  small  dark  eyes.  The 
most  of  them  carried  something  in  their  hands, — faggots, 
covered  baskets,  small  sacks  of  potatoes,  or  corn,  or  beans; 
and  when  the  load  was  heavy  they  walked  with  a  sharp,  jerking 
turn  of  the  hips  to  right  and  left  that  was  almost  like  a  disloca 
tion,  and  the  wrinkles  in  the  faces  of  these  heavy-laden  ones 
were  deep  folds,  as  in  the  hide  of  a  loose-skinned  beast.  For 
in  that  country  to  be  strong  is  to  be  cursed ;  it  means  double 
work  and  double  burden,  where  everything  that  breathes  and 
moves  and  can  be  found  to  labour  is  driven  to  the  very  breaking 
point  of  strain. 

But  as  Veronica  drove  on,  there  were  fewer  men  and  women 
in  the  road,  and  only  once  in  an  hour  or  so,  a  huge  cart,  piled 
up  with  wine  barrels,  lumbered  along,  drawn  by  four  or  five 
deathly-looking  mules  that  stumbled  when  they  had  to  stop  or 
start — shadowy  creatures,  the  ghosts  of  their  kind,  as  it  were. 


XIX  TAQUISARA  219 

The  villages  were  worse  than  the  open  country,  for  in  them 
the  appalling  poverty  was  gathered  together  in  its  muddiest 
colours  and  set  in  fixed  pictures  which  Veronica  never  forgot. 
In  the  May  weather,  the  doors  of  low  dwellings  were  open,  and 
the  black  and  white  pigs  wandered  unhindered  from  the  filthy 
street  without  to  the  misery  within,  fattening  on  the  poor  waste 
of  the  desperately  poor,  fattening  in  the  sun  that  drove  their 
wretched  betters  to  the  daily  fight  with  starvation,  fattening  in 
the  vile  filth  to  which  starvation  was  dully  indifferent,  since 
cleanliness  meant  labour  that  brought  no  bread. 

To  the  right  and  left  the  barren  mountains  reared  their 
enormous  baldness  to  the  sun,  deserts  raised  up  broadside,  as  it 
were,  and  set  on  end,  that  their  bareness  might  be  the  better 
seen  and  known  to  the  world  around.  Here  and  there,  from 
their  bases,  dark  wooded  spurs  ran  out  across  the  rising  valley, 
and  the  road  wound  round  them,  in  and  out,  and  up  and  down, 
and  over  stone  bridges  big  and  little,  and  then  up  in  terribly 
steep  ascent,  south-eastwards  to  high  Laviano,  looking  towards 
the  pass  by  which  the  highway  leads  from  Ciliento  to  Basilicata. 

In  Laviano,  facing  the  wretched  houses,  stood  the  grand 
beginning  of  a  wretchedly  unfinished  building,  one  of  those 
utter  failures  of  great  hopes,  which  trace  the  track  of  invading 
liberty  through  the  south.  It  came,  it  saw,  and  it  began  many 
things — but  it  did  not  conquer  and  it  completed  very  little.  In 
the  first  wild  enthusiasm  of  the  Garibaldian  revolution,  even  poor, 
hill-perched,  filth-stricken,  pig-breeding  Laviano  was  to  be  a  city, 
and  forthwith,  in  the  general  stye,  the  walls  of  a  great  muni 
cipal  building,  from  which  lofty  destinies  were  to  be  guided  and 
controlled  in  the  path  to  greatness,  began  to  rise,  with  strength 
of  stone  masonry,  and  arches  of  well-hewn  basalt,  and  divisions 
within  for  halls  and  stairways,  and  many  offices.  But  the 
beams  of  the  first  story  were  never  laid  across  the  lower  walls. 
There  was  no  more  money,  and  what  had  been  built  was  a 
palace  for  the  pigs.  Laviano  had  spent  its  little  all,  and  gone 
into  debt,  to  be  great,  and  had  failed ;  and  though  the  people 
had  earned  some  of  their  own  money  back  as  wages  in  the 
building,  more  than  half  of  it  slipped  into  the  pockets  of  archi 
tects,  who  went  away  smiling,  jeering,  and  happy,  to  prey  upon 
the  next  foolish  village  that  would  be  great  and  could  not. 
And  above,  from  a  hill  on  the  mountain's  spur  outside  the 
village,  still  frowned  intact  the  heavy  four-towered  castle,  com 
plete  and  sound  as  when  it  had  been  built,  the  lasting  monument 


220  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

of  those  hard  warriors  of  a  sterner  time,  who  could  not  only 
take,  but  hold — and  they  held  long  and  cruelly. 

Veronica  looked  up  backwards  at  the  towers,  as  the  horses 
stood  a  while  to  breathe  after  the  steep  ascent,  and  she  asked 
Don  Teodoro  to  whom  the  castle  belonged. 

"  It  is  yours,"  he  answered.  "  The  castle  is  yours,  the  village 
is  yours,  the  hills  are  yours.  Your  steward  lives  in  the  castle. 
You  have  much  property  here,  more  miles  of  good  and  bad 
land  than  I  can  tell." 

"  And  is  it  all  like  this  ?     Are  the  people  all  like  these  ?  " 

"  No.     There  are  poorer  people  in  the  hills." 

The  happy  laugh  that  had  come  when  the  wind  had  blown 
the  olive  blossoms  of  Eboli  upon  her  lap  had  long  been  silent 
now.  Her  face  was  grave  and  sorrowful,  and  she  drew  in  her 
lips  as  though  something  hurt  her.  Some  half-naked  children 
stood  shyly  watching  her  from  a  little  distance.  Pigs  grunted 
and  rubbed  themselves  against  the  wheels  of  the  carriage,  and 
the  coachman  lashed  backwards  at  them  with  his  whip.  But 
the  cruel  day  was  not  yet  over,  and  the  people  had  not  come 
back  from  their  toil,  so  that  the  place  was  almost  deserted  still. 
There  was  an  evil  smell  in  the  air,  and  the  children's  faces  were 
pale  and  swollen  and  dirty. 

Veronica  wondered  how  any  people  could  be  poorer  than 
these,  and  her  face  grew  still  more  sad.  She  tried  to  speak 
to  the  children,  but  they  could  not  understand  her.  She  got 
some  little  coins  from  her  purse,  but  they  were  too  much  fright 
ened  to  come  forward  and  take  them.  They  were  not  afraid  of 
the  priest,  however,  and  Don  Teodoro  got  out  of  the  carriage 
and  put  the  money  into  their  horrible  little  hands,  and  they  ran 
away  with  strange  small  cries  and  wild,  half-noiseless  laughter — 
if  laughter  can  be  anything  but  noisy.  Let  such  words  pass  as 
come ;  for  no  words  of  our  tongue  can  quite  tell  all  Veronica 
saw  and  heard  on  that  day.  The  great  Italian  myth  survives  in 
foreign  nations ;  it  has  even  moie  life,  perhaps,  in  Italy  itself, 
north  of  the  Roman  line;  but  only  those  know  what  Italy  is, 
who  have  trudged  on  foot,  and  ridden  by  mountain  paths,  and 
driven  by  southern  highways,  through  hill  and  valley  and 
mountain  and  plain,  from  house  to  house,  where  there  are 
neither  inns  nor  taverns,  throughout  that  vast  region  which 
is  the  half  of  the  whole  country,  or  more,  and  where  the  abomi 
nation  of  desolation  reigns  supreme  in  broad  day. 

That  Italy  has  done  what  she  has  done  in  thirty  years,  to  be 


xix  TAQUISARA  221 

a  power  among  nations,  is  a  marvel,  a  wonder,  and  almost 
a  miracle.  That  she  should  have  done  it  at  all  is  the  greatest 
mistake  ever  committed  by  a  civilized  nation,  and  it  is  irre 
vocable,  as  its  results  are  to  be  fatal  and  lasting.  But  upon  the 
good  reality  of  unity,  the  deadly  dream  of  military  greatness 
descended  as  a  killing  blight,  and  the  evil  vision  of  political 
power  has  blasted  the  common  sense  of  a  whole  people.  It  is 
one  thing  to  be  one,  as  a  united  family,  each  working  for  the 
good  of  each  and  all ;  it  is  another  thing,  and  a  worse  thing,  to 
be  one  as  a  vast  and  idle  army,  sitting  down  to  besiege  its  own 
storehouses,  each  eating  something  of  the  whole  and  doing 
nothing  to  increase  that  whole,  till  all  is  gone,  and  the  vision 
fades  in  the  awakening  from  the  dream,  leaving  the  bare 
nakedness  of  desolation  to  tell  the  story  of  a  huge  mistake. 

Even  Veronica's  strong  horses  were  well  nigh  tired  out  when 
they  reached  the  dismal  solitude  of  the  high  pass  above  Laviano; 
and  she  herself  was  wearied  and  faint  with  the  gloom,  and  the 
poverty,  and  the  barrenness  of  so  much  that  was  hers.  But 
her  mouth  was  set  and  firm,  and  she  meant  that  something 
should  be  done  before  many  days,  which  should  begin  a  vast 
and  lasting  change.  She  did  not  know  what  she  was  under 
taking,  nor  how  far  she  might  be  led  in  the  attempt  to  do  good 
against  great  odds  of  evil  on  all  sides ;  but  she  was  not  dis 
couraged,  and  she  had  no  intention  of  drawing  back. 

It  was  a  very  long  day.  As  the  hours  wore  on,  the  three 
ate  something  from  time  to  time,  from  a  basket  of  provisions 
which  Elettra  had  brought,  and  at  which  Veronica  had  laughed. 
But  the  air  of  the  mountains  was  keen,  and  there  was  not  too 
much  in  the  basket,  after  all. 

Then,  in  the  shadow  below  the  sun-line  cut  by  the  mountains 
across  the  earth,  she  saw  a  sharp  peak,  grey  and  regular  as  a 
pyramid,  rising  in  the  midst  of  the  high  valley,  and  then  beyond 
it,  as  the  carriage  rolled  along,  there  was  a  misty  landscape  of 
a  far,  low  valley — and  then,  all  at  once,  the  brown,  tiled  roofs 
of  her  own  Muro  were  at  her  feet,  and  far  to  the  left,  out  of  the 
houses,  rose  the  round  grey  keep  of  the  fortress.  The  setting 
sun  was  behind  the  mountains,  and  the  moon,  near  to  the  full, 
hung,  round  and  white,  just  above  the  tower,  in  the  pale  eastern 
sky.  From  the  second  turning  of  the  steep  descent,  Veronica 
could  see  a  huge  bastion  of  the  castle  above  the  roofs,  jutting 
out  like  an  independent  round  fort. 

Many  of  the  people  knew  that  she  was  coming,  and  some 


222  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

had  hastened  from  their  work  to  see  her  as  soon  as  she  arrived. 
Curious,  silent,  pale,  dirty,  they  thronged  about  the  carriage. 
An  old  woman  touched  Veronica's  skirt,  and  then  brought  her 
hand  back  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it.  Then  another  did  the 
same — a  thin,  dark-browed  girl  with  a  ragged  red  shawl  on  her 
head.  The  uncouth  men  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder,  staring 
with  unwinking  eyes.  A  tall,  pale  shepherd  youth  was  erect 
and  motionless  in  a  tattered  hat  and  a  brown  cloak,  overtopping 
the  others  by  his  head  and  thin  throat,  and  there  was  something 
Sphinx-like  in  the  expression  of  his  still,  sad  face. 

On  Veronica's  right,  as  the  carriage  halted,  was  the  public 
fountain.  Twenty  or  thirty  tall,  thin  girls  in  short  black  frocks, 
displaying  grimy  stockings  and  coarse  shoes,  or  bare  legs  and 
muddy  red  feet,  were  waiting  their  turns  to  fill  the  long  wooden 
casks  they  carried  on  their  heads.  The  fountain  had  but  two 
little  streams  of  water,  and  it  took  a  long  time  to  fill  a  cask. 
At  the  sound  of  the  carriage  wheels,  most  of  the  girls  turned 
slowly  round  to  see  the  sight,  their  empty  barrels  balanced 
crosswise  on  their  heads.  They  did  not  even  lift  a  hand  to 
steady  their  burdens  as  they  changed  their  positions.  They 
stared  steadily.  Veronica  looked  to  the  right  and  left  and  tried 
to  smile,  to  show  that  she  was  pleased.  But  the  visible,  jagged 
edges  of  their  outward  misery  cut  cruelly  at  her  heart,  for  they 
were  her  people ;  nominally,  by  old  feudal  right,  they  were  all 
her  people,  and  her  father's  father  had  held  right  of  justice  and 
of  life  and  death  over  them  all ;  and  in  actual  fact  they  were 
almost  all  her  people,  since  they  lived  in  her  houses,  worked  on 
her  lands,  and  ate  a  portion  of  her  bread,  though  it  was  such  a 
very  little  one  as  could  barely  keep  them  alive. 

She  tried  to  smile,  and  some  of  the  girls  held  out  their  fingers 
towards  her  and  then  kissed  them,  as  though  they  had  touched 
her  dress,  as  the  old  woman  had  done.  But  the  men  stared 
stolidly  from  under  the  low  brims  of  their  battered  hats.  Only 
the  fever-struck  shepherd  smiled  in  a  sickly  way  and  lost  his 
Sphinx-like  look  all  at  once. 

A  man  in  a  white  shirt  came  forward,  leading  Veronica's 
mare,  all  saddled  for  her  to  mount. 

"The  carriage  cannot  go  through  the  streets,"  said  Don 
Teodoro,  in  explanation.  "They  are  too  narrow  and  too  rough." 

"  No,"  answered  Veronica,  as  she  stepped  from  the  carriage 
upon  the  muddy  stones.  "  I  will  walk.  If  the  streets  are  good 
enough  for  my  people,  they  are  good  enough  for  me." 


Xix  TAQUISARA  223 

Even  to  the  good  priest  this  seemed  a  little  exaggeration  on 
her  part.  But  she  had  seen  much  that  day  of  which  she  had 
never  dreamed,  and  in  her  generous  heart  there  was  a  sort  of 
fierce  wrath  against  so  much  misery,  with  a  strong  impulse  to 
share  it  or  cure  it,  to  face  the  devil  on  his  own  ground,  and 
beat  him  to  death,  hand  to  hand.  It  was  perhaps  foolish  of 
her  to  walk  to  her  own  gate,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of  in  the  feeling  which  prompted  her  to  do  it. 

Don  Teodoro  walked  beside  her  on  the  left,  and  Elettra 
pressed  close  to  her  on  the  right,  as  they  threaded  the  foul 
black  lanes  towards  the  castle.  The  moment  she  had  left  the 
carriage,  men  and  women  and  children  had  seized  eagerly  upon 
her  belongings,  to  carry  the  bags  and  rugs  and  little  packages, 
and  now  they  followed  her  in  a  compact  crowd,  all  talking 
together  in  harsh  undertones ;  and  from  the  dark  doorways,  as 
she  went  by,  old  women  and  old  men  came  out,  and  more 
children,  half  clothed  in  rags,  and  cripples  four  or  five.  The 
pigs  that  were  out  in  the  lanes  were  caught  in  the  press  and 
struggled  desperately  to  get  out  of  it,  upsetting  even  strong  men 
with  their  heavy  bodies  as  they  charged  through  the  crowd, 
grunting  and  squealing.  A  few  people  coming  from  the 
opposite  direction,  too,  flattened  themselves  against  the  black 
walls  and  low,  greasy  doors,  but  there  was  not  room  even  there, 
and  they  also  were  taken  up  by  the  throng  and  driven  before, 
till  the  small  crowd  grew  to  a  little  multitude  of  miserable, 
curious,  hungry,  scrambling  humanity,  squeezing  along  the 
narrow  way  to  get  sight  of  the  lady  before  she  should  reach 
the  castle  gate. 

From  time  to  time  the  tall  old  priest  turned  mildly  and  pro 
tested,  trying  to  get  more  air  and  elbow  room  for  Veronica. 

"  Gently,  gently,  my  children  ! "  he  called  to  them.  "  You 
will  see  your  princess  often,  for  she  is  come  to  stay  with  you." 

"  Eh,  uncle  priest !  "  cried  a  rough  young  voice.  "  That  is 
fair  and  good,  but  who  believes  it  ?  " 

"  Eh,  who  believes  it  ?  "  echoed  a  dozen  voices,  young  and 
old. 

Veronica  laid  her  hand  upon  Don  Teodoro's  arm  to  steady 
herself  as  she  trod  upon  the  slimy  stones.  She  could  not  have 
stopped,  for  the  crowd,  extending  far  behind  her  in  the  dim 
street,  would  have  pushed  her  down,  but  she  turned  her  head 
as  she  walked  and  spoke  in  the  direction  of  the  people.  Her 
voice  rang  high  and  clear  over  their  heads. 


224  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  I  have  come  to  live  with  you,"  she  said,  and  they  heard  her 
even  far  off.  "  It  is  true.  You  shall  see." 

"  God  render  it  you  ! "  said  a  woman's  voice.  "  May  God 
make  it  true  ! " 

"  More  than  one  of  them  are  saying  that  to  themselves," 
observed  Don  Teodoro,  as  Veronica  looked  before  her  again, 
and  walked  on. 

Suddenly  she  came  out  upon  a  broader,  cleaner  way,  which 
led  out  beyond  the  houses  and  up,  by  a  sweep,  to  the  low  gate 
of  the  castle;  close  before  her  was  the  great  lower  bastion  which 
she  had  seen  from  a  distance.  She  saw  now  that  there  was  a 
trellis  high  up,  all  over  it,  on  which  grew  a  vine;  but  the  leaves 
were  scarcely  budding  yet.  She  had  not  time  to  see  much,  for 
the  crowd  would  not  let  her  stop,  and  as  the  way  widened,  many 
ran  before  her,  up  to  the  gate,  where  they  stopped  short,  for 
there  were  half  a  dozen  men  there  in  dark  green  coats,  and 
silver  buttons,  foresters  of  the  estate,  who  kept  them  back. 

Veronica  would  have  turned  once  more,  to  nod  to  the  people 
and  smile  at  the  poor  women  who  pressed  close  upon  her,  but 
the  crowd  was  so  great  that  as  the  foresters  made  way  for  her, 
she  found  herself  driven  almost  violently  into  her  own  gate,  and 
in  the  rush,  Elettra  nearly  fell  to  her  knees  as  they  got  in.  The 
gate  clanged  behind  her,  and  she  heard  the  great  bolts  sliding 
into  their  sockets,  as  it  was  made  fast.  Her  men  had  known 
well  enough  what  to  expect  from  the  curiosity  of  the  people. 
They  opened  a  little  postern  and  let  in  the  few  who  carried  her 
things,  and  who  had  been  shut  out  with  the  crowd. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked  upward,  before  her.  It 
was  very  unlike  what  she  had  expected.  She  was  in  the  dark, 
vaulted  way,  scarcely  eight  feet  broad,  and  paved  with  flagstones, 
which  led  up  to  the  first  small  court.  The  masonry  was  rough, 
enormous,  damp,  and  blackened  with  dampness  and  age.  From 
the  building  around  the  little  enclosure,  small,  dark  windows 
looked  down  upon  her.  A  narrow  door  was  on  her  right.  On 
the  left,  rough  stone  steps  led  up  to  the  keep,  and  to  the  eastern 
side  of  the  castle.  The  door  stood  open,  and  there  was  a  lamp 
in  the  small  entry.  Before  entering,  she  glanced  up  at  the 
lintel  and  saw  that  the  ancient  arms  of  the  Serra  were  roughly 
sculptured  in  the  old  marble,  and  she  knew  that  she  was  on  the 
threshold  of  her  home. 

It  was  more  like  a  gloomy  dungeon  than  the  princely  castle 
of  which  she  had  dreamed.  That,  indeed,  was  what  it  had 


xix  TAQUISARA  225 

been  through  many  ages,  and  nothing  else.  She  wondered  where 
the  great  staircase  could  be  where  the  poor  ghost  of  Queen 
Joanna  sat  and  shrieked  at  midnight  on  the  twelfth  of  May. 
It  was  near  the  day,  and  not  being  at  all  timid,  she  smiled  at 
the  thought,  as  she  went  in.  Three  or  four  decently  clad  women 
in  black  came  forward  into  the  vaulted  passage,  and  smiled 
and  nodded  awkwardly.  They  were  the  people  Don  Teodoro 
had  engaged  for  her  service.  She  had  a  word  for  each  and 
patted  them  on  the  shoulder,  and  they  led  the  way,  two  and 
two,  carrying  a  light  between  them,  for  it  was  very  dark  within, 
though  there  was  still  broad  daylight  without. 

Then,  all  at  once,  she  scarcely  knew  how,  Veronica  was 
standing  upon  a  little  balcony.  Behind  her,  the  walls  of  the 
embrasure  were  fully  fifteen  feet  thick.  Before  her,  under  the 
glow  of  the  sunset  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  first  pale  moon 
light  on  the  other,  lay  a  great  valley,  deep  and  long  and 
broadening  fan-like  from  below  her  to  the  far  distance,  where 
the  evening  mists  were  beginning  to  gather  the  white  light  of 
the  moon,  while  the  great  mountains  of  the  south-east  were  still 
red  with  the  last  blood  of  the  dying  day — a  view  of  matchless 
peace  and  surpassing  beauty,  such  as  she  had  never  yet  seen. 
Just  then,  she  looked  down,  and  there,  at  her  feet,  were  the 
brown  roofs  of  Muro.  Her  dream  seemed  to  be  suddenly 
realized,  and  she  had  found  the  room  of  which  she  had  so  often 
made  the  picture  in  her  imagination.  But  it  was  far  more 
beautiful  than  she  had  dared  to  imagine  or  dream.  The  lofty 
fortress  was  built  lengthwise  along  the  rock,  facing  the  south 
west,  to  meet  the  winter  sun  from  morning  till  night ;  and  forever 
before  it  lay  the  wide  Basilicata,  the  peace  of  the  valley,  the 
height  of  the  huge  mountains,  the  infinite  tenderness  of  a 
distance  that  is  seen  from  a  vast  height — in  which  even  what 
would  be  near  in  one  plane,  is  already  far  by  depth. 

Veronica  looked  out  in  silence  for  a  long  time,  and  the  day 
faded  at  last  in  the  sky,  while  the  moon's  light  whitened  and 
strewed  blackness  across  the  twilight  shadows.  The  old  priest 
stood  beside  her,  his  three-cornered  hat  in  his  hand.  But  the 
silver  spectacles  had  disappeared.  He  could  feel  what  was 
before  him  without  seeing  it  distinctly. 

"  I  knew  that  I  should  find  it,"  said  Veronica,  at  last.  "  I 
always  knew  that  it  was  here.  I  shall  live  in  this  room." 

"  It  is  a  good  room,"  said  Don  Teodoro,  quietly,  and  not  at 
all  understanding  what  she  meant. 


226  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"And  I  have  an  idea  that  I  shall  die  in  this  room,"  added 
the  young  girl,  in  a  dreamy  tone,  not  caring  whether  he  heard 
or  not.  "  I  am  the  last  of  them,  you  know.  They  all  came 
from  here  in  the  beginning,  ever  so  long  ago.  It  would  be 
natural  that  the  last  of  them  should  die  here." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  let  us  not  talk  of  such  sad  things ! " 
cried  the  priest,  protesting  against  the  mere  mention  of  death, 
as  almost  every  Italian  will. 

"  Have  they  made  it  a  sitting-room  ?  "  asked  Veronica,  turning 
from  the  balcony  into  the  deep  embrasure. 

She  had  scarcely  glanced  at  the  furniture,  for  she  had  made 
straight  for  the  window  on  entering.  She  looked  about  her 
now.  There  were  dark  tapestries  on  the  walls.  There  was  a 
big  polished  table  in  the  middle,  and  a  dozen  or  more  carved 
chairs,  covered  with  faded  brocade,  were  arranged  in  regular 
order  on  the  three  sides  away  from  the  windows.  The  high 
vault  was  roughly  painted  in  fresco,  with  cherubs  and  garlands 
of  flowers  in  the  barbarous  manner  of  Italian  art  fifty  years  ago. 
There  was  a  low  marble  mantelpiece,  and  on  it  stood  six  brass 
candlesticks  at  precisely  even  distances,  one  from  another,  the 
six  candles  being  all  lighted.  But  there  was  a  lamp  on  the 
table.  Veronica  smiled. 

"  You  must  forgive  me  if  I  have  not  known  what  to  do,"  said 
Don  Teodoro,  humbly,  but  smiling  also.  "  I  have  seen  some 
thing  of  civilization  in  my  wanderings,  but  I  never  attempted  to 
arrange  a  house  before.  This  is  a  very  large  house,  if  one  calls 
such  a  place  a  house  at  all." 

"  I  suppose  there  are  thirty  or  forty  rooms  ?  " 

"  There  are  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  altogether,"  answered 
the  priest,  his  smile  broadening.  "  They  are  all  named  in  the 
inventory.  There  is  a  legend  about  the  place  to  the  effect  that 
there  is  a  three  hundred  and  sixty-sixth,  which  no  one  can  find. 
Of  course  the  inventory  includes  every  roofed  space  between 
walls,  from  the  dungeon  at  the  top  of  the  keep  to  the  dark 
room  under  the  trap-door  in  the  last  hall  on  this  lower  story. 
But  you  will  be  surprised,  to-morrow,  if  you  go  over  the 
place.  It  is  much  bigger  than  seems  possible,  because  you 
can  never  really  see  it  from  outside  unless  you  go  down  into 
the  plain." 

"And  where  do  you  think  that  other  room  is?"  asked 
Veronica,  who  was  young  enough  to  take  interest  in  the 
mystery. 


xix  TAQUISARA  227 

"  Heaven  knows  !  Perhaps  it  does  not  exist  at  all.  But  as 
I  was  saying,  my  dear  princess,  I  found  it  hard  to  arrange  an 
apartment  for  you,  not  knowing  how  you  might  choose  to  select 
your  quarters.  So  I  had  the  tapestries  cleaned  and  hung  up, 
and  the  chairs  dusted  and  the  tables  polished,  and  some  lights 
got  ready  on  this  floor,  and  your  bedroom  is  the  last." 

"  The  one  with  the  trap-door  ?  "  asked  Veronica.  "  That  is 
very  amusing ! " 

"  I  had  the  dark  room  below  well  cleaned,  and  the  trap  has 
been  screwed  down,"  said  Don  Teodoro.  "  I  thought  that  there 
might  be  rats  there.  Elettra  has  the  room  before  yours.  But 
you  are  tired,  and  you  must  be  hungry.  It  is  my  fault  for  not 
leaving  you  at  once." 

"But  you  will  dine  with  me?  To-night  and  every  night, 
Don  Teodoro — that  is  understood." 

Half  an  hour  later,  they  sat  down  to  table  in  the  light  of  the 
lamp  and  the  six  candles,  in  the  room  from  which  Veronica  had 
looked  out  upon  the  valley.  But  they  were  both  too  tired  to 
talk,  though  they  made  faint  attempts  at  conversation,  and  as 
soon  as  the  meal  was  over,  the  old  priest  begged  leave  to  go 
home. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,"  he  said,  as  he  bade  Veronica  good-night. 
"There  are  several  men  in  the  house.  You  are  not  all  alone 
with  your  five  women.  The  foresters  have  their  headquarters 
here." 

Veronica  was  anything  but  timid  or  nervous,  but  when  she  was 
in  bed  in  her  own  room  at  the  south  comer  of  the  castle,  watch 
ing  the  shadows  cast  up  by  the  flickering  night  light  upon  the 
ancient  tapestries,  she  realized  that  she  was  very  lonely  indeed, 
she  and  scarcely  a  dozen  servants,  in  the  vast  fortress  wherein 
a  thousand  men  had  once  found  ample  room  to  live.  Brave  as 
she  was,  she  glanced  once  or  twice  at  the  corner  of  the  room 
where  the  trap-door  was  placed.  There  was  a  carpet  over  it, 
and  a  table  stood  there  which  Elettra  had  arranged  hastily  for 
the  toilet  table.  Veronica  wondered  what  end  that  dark  place 
below  had  served  in  ancient  days,  and  whether  she  were  not 
perhaps  lying  in  the  very  room  in  which  Queen  Joanna  had 
been  smothered  by  the  two  Hungarian  soldiers.  It  seemed 
probable. 

But  she  was  very  tired,  and  she  fell  asleep  before  long, 
fancying  that  she  was  looking  out  from  the  balcony  again,  with 
the  brown  roofs  of  her  people's  houses  at  her  feet. 


228  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 


CHAPTER  XX 

VERONICA  was  awake  early  in  the  May  morning,  and  looked 
out  again  upon  the  great  valley  she  had  seen  at  sunset.  It 
was  all  mist  and  light,  without  distinct  outline.  A  fresh  breeze 
blew  into  her  face  as  she  stood  at  the  open  window,  and  the 
sun  was  yet  on  the  south-east  wall,  so  that  she  stood  in  the 
clear,  bluish  shadow  which  high  buildings  cast  only  in  the 
morning. 

She  had  slept  soundly  without  dreams,  and  she  wondered 
how  she  could  have  ever  glanced  last  night  towards  the  place 
in  the  corner  where  the  trap-door  was  hidden  under  her  toilet 
table,  or  how  she  could  have  felt  herself  lonely  and  not  quite 
safe,  in  her  own  castle,  with  a  dozen  of  her  own  people,  when 
she  had  never  been  afraid  in  the  Palazzo  Macomer.  She 
pushed  back  her  brown  hair,  a  little  impatiently,  and  laughed  as 
she  turned  to  Elettra. 

"  We  are  well  here,  Excellency,"  said  the  maid,  with  a  smile 
of  satisfaction. 

She  rarely  spoke  unless  Veronica  addressed  her,  and  was 
never  a  woman  of  many  words. 

"  And  you  saw  no  ghosts  ?  "  Veronica  laughed. 

"I  am  afraid  of  ghosts  that  wear  felt  slippers,"  answered 
Elettra. 

An  hour  later  Veronica  sent  for  Don  Teodoro,  and  they 
went  over  the  castle  together.  He  led  her  first  to  the  high 
dungeon  on  the  north  side.  The  natural  rock  sprang  up  at 
that  end,  and  some  of  the  steps  were  cut  in  it.  At  the  top, 
the  tower  was  round,  with  a  high  parapet,  and  an  extension  on 
one  side,  all  filled  with  earth  and  planted  with  cabbages  and 
other  green  things. 

"  The  under-steward  had  a  little  vegetable  garden  here,"  said 
Don  Teodoro.  "  I  suppose  that  you  will  plant  flowers.  Will 
you  look  over  the  parapet  on  that  side  ?  " 

Veronica  trod  the  soft  earth  daintily  and  reached  the  wall. 
She  glanced  over  it,  and  then  drew  a  deep  breath  of  surprise. 
Below  her  was  a  sheer  fall  of  a  thousand  feet,  to  the  bottom  of 
a  desolate  ravine  that  ran  up  to  northward  in  an  incredibly 
steep  ascent. 

Then  they  went  into  the  ancient  prison,  which  was  a  round, 
vaulted  chamber,  shaped  like  the  inside  of  the  sharp  end  of  an 


XX  TAQUISARA  229 

eggshell,  with  one  small  grated  window,  three  times  a  man's 
height  from  the  stone  floor.  The  little  iron  door  had  huge 
bolts  and  locks,  and  might  have  been  four  or  five  hundred 
years  old.  On  the  stone  walls,  men  who  had  been  imprisoned 
there  had  chipped  out  little  crosses,  and  made  initials,  and 
rough  dates  in  the  fruitless  attempts  to  commemorate  their 
obscure  suffering. 

Veronica  and  Don  Teodoro  descended  again,  and  he  led  her 
through  many  strange  places,  dimly  lighted  by  small  windows 
piercing  ten  feet  of  masonry,  and  through  the  enormous  hall 
which  had  been  the  guard-room  or  barrack  in  old  days,  and 
had  served  as  a  granary  since  then,  and  up  and  down  dark 
stairs,  through  narrow  ways,  out  upon  jutting  bastions,  down 
and  up,  backwards  and  forwards,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  till  she 
could  only  guess  at  the  direction  in  which  she  was  going,  by 
the  glimpses  of  distant  mountain  and  valley  as  she  passed  the 
irregularly  placed  windows.  Several  of  her  people  followed 
her,  and  one  went  before  with  a  huge  bunch  of  ancient  keys, 
opening  and  shutting  all  manner  of  big  and  little  doors  before 
her  and  after  her.  Now  and  then  one  of  the  men  in  green 
coats  lighted  a  lantern  and  showed  her  where  steep  black 
steps  led  down  into  dark  cellars,  and  vaults,  and  underground 
places. 

She  saw  it  all,  but  she  was  glad  to  get  back  to  the  room  she 
already  loved  best,  from  which  the  balcony  outside  the  windows 
looked  down  upon  the  valley. 

And  there  she  began  at  once  to  instal  herself,  causing  her 
books  to  be  unpacked  and  arranged,  as  well  as  the  few  objects 
familiar  to  her  eyes,  which  she  had  brought  with  her.  Among 
these  was  the  photograph  of  Bosio  Macomer.  Those  of 
Gregorio  and  Matilde  had  disappeared.  She  hesitated,  as  she 
held  the  picture  in  her  hand,  as  to  whether  she  should  keep  it 
in  her  bedroom,  or  in  the  sitting-room,  in  which  she  meant 
chiefly  to  live,  and  she  looked  at  it  with  sad  eyes.  She  decided 
that  it  should  be  in  the  sitting-room.  Where  everything  was 
hers,  she  had  a  right  to  show  what  had  been  all  but  quite  hers 
at  the  last.  The  six  brass  candlesticks  were  taken  away,  and 
Bosio's  photograph  was  set  upon  the  long,  low  mantelpiece. 
His  death  had  after  all  been  more  a  surprise,  a  horror,  a 
disappointment,  than  the  wound  it  might  have  been  if  she  had 
really  loved  him,  and  it  is  only  the  wound  that  leaves  a  scar. 
The  momentary  shock  is  presently  forgotten  when  the  young 


230  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

nerves  are  rested  and  the  vision  of  a  great  moment  fades  to 
the  half-tone  of  the  general  past.  Between  her  present,  too, 
and  the  night  of  Bosio's  death,  had  come  the  attempt  upon 
her  own  life,  and  all  the  sudden  change  that  had  followed  the 
catastrophe.  She  was  too  brave  to  realize,  even  now,  that  she 
might  have  died  at  Matilde's  hands.  She  had  to  go  over  the 
facts  to  make  herself  believe  that  she  had  been  almost  killed. 
But  the  whole  affair  had  brought  a  revolution  into  her  life, 
since  Bosio  had  been  gone. 

Another  companionship  had  taken  the  place  of  his,  so  that 
she  hardly  missed  him  now.  She  would  miss  Gianluca's  letters 
far  more  than  Bosio,  if  they  should  suddenly  stop,  and  the 
mere  thought  that  the  correspondence  might  be  broken  off 
gave  her  a  sharp  little  pain.  The  idea  crossed  her  mind  while 
she  was  arranging  her  writing  table  near  her  favourite  window, 
for  all  writing  seemed  to  be  connected  with  Gianluca,  so  that 
she  could  not  imagine  passing  more  than  a  day  or  two  without 
setting  down  something  on  paper  which  he  was  to  read  and  to 
answer.  To  lose  that  close  intimacy  of  thought  would  be  to 
lose  much. 

But  Gianluca  had  written  on  the  morning  of  her  departure, 
and  before  Veronica  had  half  finished  what  she  was  doing,  one 
of  her  women  brought  her  his  letter,  for  the  post  came  in  at 
about  midday.  It  came  alone,  for  Bianca  had  not  written  yet, 
and  Veronica's  correspondence  was  not  large.  She  had  not 
even  thought  of  ordering  a  newspaper  to  be  sent  to  her.  Her 
work  and  occupation  were  to  be  in  Muro,  and  she  cared  very 
little  about  what  might  happen  anywhere  else.  She  broke  the 
seal  and  read  the  letter  eagerly. 

It  was  like  most  of  his  letters  at  first,  being  full  of  matters 
about  which  he  had  talked  with  her,  and  written  in  the  graceful 
way  which  was  especially  his  and  which  had  so  much  charm  for 
her.  But  towards  the  end  his  courage  must  have  failed  him  a 
little,  for  there  were  sad  words  and  one  or  two  phrases  that  had 
in  them  something  touching  and  tender  to  which  she  was  not 
accustomed.  He  did  not  tell  her  that  he  was  ill  and  that  he 
feared  lest  he  might  never  see  her  again,  for  he  was  far  too 
careful  as  yet  of  hinting  at  the  truth  she  would  not  understand. 
They  were  very  little  things  that  told  her  of  his  sadness — an 
unfinished  sentence  ending  in  a  dash,  the  fall  of  half  a  dozen 
harmonious  words  that  were  like  a  beautiful  verse  and  vaguely 
reminded  her  of  Leopardi's  poetry — small  touches  here  and 


xx  TAQUISARA  231 

there  which  had  either  never  slipped  from  his  pen  before,  or 
which  she  had  never  noticed. 

They  pleased  her.  She  would  not  have  been  a  human 
woman  if  she  had  not  been  a  little  glad  to  be  missed  for  herself, 
even  though  the  writing  was  to  continue.  She  read  the  last 
part  of  the  letter  over  three  times,  the  rest  only  twice,  and  then 
she  laid  it  in  an  empty  drawer  of  her  table,  rather  tenderly,  to 
be  the  first  of  many.  That  should  be  Gianluca's  especial  place. 

Amidst  her  first  arrangements  for  her  own  comfort,  she  did 
not  forget  what  she  looked  upon  as  her  chief  work,  and  before 
that  day  was  over  she  had  begun-  what  was  to  be  a  systematic 
improvement  of  Muro.  Direct  and  practical,  with  a  sense 
beyond  her  years,  she  did  not  hestitate.  The  first  step  was  to 
clean  the  little  town  and  pave  the  streets.  The  next  to  visit 
and  examine  the  dwellings. 

"The  place  shall  be  clean,"  said  Veronica  to  the  steward, 
who  stood  before  her  table,  receiving  her  orders. 

"  But,  Excellency,  how  can  it  be  clean  when  there  are  pigs 
everywhere  ?  "  inquired  the  man,  astonished  at  her  audacity. 

"There  shall  be  no  more  pigs  in  Muro,"  answered  the  young 
princess.  "The  people  shall  choose  as  many  trustworthy  old 
men  and  boys  as  are  necessary  to  look  after  the  creatures. 
They  shall  be  kept  at  night  in  some  barn  or  old  building  a  mile 
or  two  from  here,  and  they  shall  be  fed  there,  or  pastured  there. 
I  will  pay  what  it  costs." 

"  Excellency,  it  is  impossible  !  There  will  be  a  revolution  ! " 
The  steward  held  up  his  hands  in  amazement. 

"Very  well,  then.  Let  us  have  a  revolution.  But  do  not 
tell  me  that  what  I  order  is  impossible.  I  will  have  no  im 
possibilities.  The  town  belongs  to  me,  and  it  shall  be  inhabited 
by  human  beings,  and  not  by  pigs.  If  you  make  difficulties, 
you  may  go.  I  can  find  people  to  carry  out  my  orders.  Begin 
and  clean  the  streets  to-day.  Take  as  many  hands  as  you  need 
and  pay  them  full  labourer's  wages,  but  see  that  they  work. 
Make  a  list  of  the  pigs  and  their  owners.  Decide  where  you 
will  keep  them.  Hire  the  swineherds.  If  I  find  one  pig  in 
Muro  a  week  from  to-day,  and  if,  in  fine  weather,  I  cannot  walk 
dry  shod  where  I  please,  I  will  take  another  steward.  I  intend 
to  remit  a  quarter  of  all  the  rents  this  year.  You  may  tell  the 
people  so.  You  may  go  and  see  about  these  things  at  once, 
but  let  me  hear  no  more  of  impossibilities.  Only  children  say 
that  things  are  impossible." 


232  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

The  man  understood  that  the  old  order  had  departed  and 
that  Veronica  Serra  meant  to  be  obeyed  without  question,  and 
he  never  again  raised  his  voice  to  suggest  that  there  might  be 
what  he  called  a  revolution  if  her  orders  were  carried  out. 

As  for  the  people  of  Muro,  they  were  dumb  with  astonish- 
ment.  They  had  a  municipality,  of  course,  a  syndic,  and  a 
secretary,  and  certain  head  men,  to  whose  authority  they  were 
accustomed  to  appeal  in  everything — generally  against  the  ex 
tortion  of  the  stewards  who  had  obeyed  Gregorio  Macomer. 
But  before  Veronica  had  been  in  Muro  ten  days,  the  muni 
cipality  was  nothing  more  than  the  shadow  of  a  name.  The 
syndic  was  her  tenant,  and  bowed  down  to  her,  and  the  rest  of 
the  illiterate  officials  followed  his  lead.  It  was  natural  enough ; 
for  they  all  benefited  by  the  lowering  of  the  rents,  and  they 
were  quick  to  see  that  she  meant  to  spend  money  in  the  place, 
which  would  be  to  the  advantage  of  every  one  before  long. 

It  was  she  who  made  the  revolution,  and  not  they.  Before 
the  first  week  was  out  the  pigs  were  gone,  and  she  walked  dry 
shod  over  the  stones  from  the  castle  to  the  entrance  of  the 
village.  In  less  than  a  month  the  principal  way  was  levelled 
and  half  paved,  and  masons  were  everywhere  at  work  repairing 
those  of  the  houses  which  were  in  most  immediate  need  of 
improvement. 

"  You  are  Christians,"  she  said  to  a  little  crowd  that  gathered 
round  her  one  day,  while  she  was  watching  the  setting-up  of  a 
new  door.  "  You  shall  live  like  Christians.  When  you  have 
been  clean  for  a  month,  you  will  never  wish  to  be  dirty  again." 

"That  is  true,"  answered  an  old  man,  shaking  his  head 
thoughtfully.  "  But,  in  the  name  of  God,  who  has  ever  thought 
of  these  things  ?  It  needed  this  angel  from  Paradise." 

Veronica  laughed.  They  were  docile  people,  and  they  soon 
found  out  that  the  young  princess  was  as  absolute  a  despot  in 
character  as  ever  terrorized  Rome  or  ruled  the  Russias.  At  the 
merest  suggestion  of  opposition,  the  small  aquiline  nose  seemed 
to  quiver,  the  little  head  was  thrown  back,  the  brown  eyes 
gleamed,  the  delicate  gloved  hand  either  closed  upon  itself 
quickly  or  went  out  in  a  gesture  of  command. 

But  then,  they  sometimes  saw  another  look  in  her  face, 
though  not  often,  and  perhaps  it  was  less  natural  to  her  though 
not  less  true  to  her  nature.  They  had  seen  the  brown  eyes 
soften  wonderfully  and  the  small  hands  do  very  tender  things, 
now  and  then,  for  poor  children  and  suffering  women  when  no 


XX  TAQUISARA  233 

one  else  was  at  hand  to  give  aid.  Yet,  at  most  times,  she  was 
quiet,  cheerful,  natural,  for  it  happened  more  and  more  rarely 
that  any  one  opposed  her  will. 

She  became  to  them  the  very  incarnation  of  power  on  earth. 
She  would  have  been  thought  rich  in  any  country;  to  their 
utter  wretchedness  her  wealth  was  fabulous  beyond  bounds  of 
fairy  tale.  Most  persons  would  have  admitted  that  she  was 
wonderfully  practical  and  showed  a  great  deal  of  common  sense 
in  what  she  did ;  to  her  own  people  she  seemed  preternaturally 
wise,  only  to  be  compared  with  Providence  for  her  foresight, 
and  much  more  occupied  with  their  especial  welfare  than 
Providence  could  be  expected  to  be,  considering  the  extent  of 
the  world.  She  was  endlessly  charitable  to  women  and  children 
and  old  men,  but  to  those  who  could  work  she  was  inexorable. 
She  paid  well,  but  she  insisted  that  the  work  should  be  done 
honestly.  Some  of  the  younger  ones  murmured  at  her  hardness 
when  they  had  tried  to  deceive  her. 

"  Would  you  take  false  money  from  me?"  she  asked.  "  Why 
should  I  take  false  work  from  you  ?  You  have  good  work  to 
sell,  and  I  have  good  money  to  give  you  for  it.  I  do  not  cheat 
you.  Do  not  try  to  cheat  me." 

They  laughed  shamefacedly  and  worked  better  the  next  time, 
for  they  were  not  without  common  sense,  either.  Doubtless, 
she  attempted  and  expected  more  than  was  possible  at  first,  but 
she  had  Don  Teodoro  at  her  elbow,  and  he  was  able  to  direct 
her  energy,  though  he  could  not  have  moderated  it.  He  found 
it  hard,  indeed,  to  keep  pace  with  her  swift  advances  towards 
the  civilization  of  Muro,  and  he  was  quite  incapable  of  entering 
into  the  boldness  of  some  of  her  generalizations,  which,  to  tell 
the  truth,  were  youthful  enough  when  she  first  expressed  her 
ideas  to  him.  But  while  one  of  his  two  great  passions  was 
learning,  the  other  was  charity,  in  that  simple  form  which  gives 
all  it  has  to  any  one  who  seems  to  be  in  trouble — the  charity 
that  is  universal,  and  easily  imposed  upon,  and  that  exists 
spontaneously  and,  as  it  were,  for  its  own  sake,  in  certain  warm 
hearted  people — an  indiscriminate  love  of  giving  to  the  poor, 
the  overflow  of  a  heart  so  full  of  kindness  that  it  would  be  kind 
to  a  withering  flower  or  a  half-dead  tree,  rather  than  not  expend 
itself  at  all.  And  so,  seeing  the  great  things  that  were  done  by 
Veronica  in  Muro,  and  secretly  giving  of  his  very  little  where 
she  gave  very  much,  Don  Teodoro  grew  daily  to  be  more  and 
more  happy  in  the  satisfaction  of  his  strongest  instinct ;  and 


234  TAQUISARA  CHAR 

little  by  little  he,  also,  came  to  look  upon  his  princess  as  the 
incarnation  of  a  good  power  come  to  illuminate  his  darkness 
and  to  lift  his  people  out  of  degradation  to  human  estate. 

Veronica  was  happy  too.  There  is  a  sort  of  exhilaration  and 
daily  surprise  in  the  first  use  of  real  power  in  any  degree,  and 
she  enjoyed  her  own  sensat'ons  to  the  fullest  extent.  When  she 
was  alone,  she  wrote  about  them  to  Gianluca,  giving  him  what 
was  almost  a  daily  chronicle  of  her  new  life,  and  waiting 
anxiously  for  the  answers  to  her  letters  which  came  with  almost 
perfect  regularity  for  some  time  after  her  own  arrival  at  Muro. 

They  pleased  her,  too,  though  the  note  of  sadness  was  more 
accentuated  in  them,  as  time  went  on  and  spring  ran  into 
summer.  He  had  hoped,  perhaps,  that  she  might  tire  of  her 
solitude  and  come  down  to  Naples,  if  only  for  a  few  days ;  or, 
at  least,  that  something  might  happen  to  break  what  promised 
to  be  a  long  separation.  He  longed  for  a  sight  of  her,  and  said 
so  now  and  then,  for  letter-writing  could  not  fill  up  the  aching 
emptiness  she  had  left  in  his  already  empty  life.  He  had  not 
her  occupations  and  interests  to  absorb  his  days  and  make  each 
hour  seem  too  short,  and,  moreover,  he  loved  her,  whereas  she 
was  not  at  all  in  love  with  him. 

Then,  a  little  later,  there  was  a  tone  of  complaint  in  what  he 
wrote,  which  suddenly  irritated  her.  He  told  her  that  his  life 
was  dreary  and  tiresome,  and  that  the  people  about  him  did  not 
understand  him.  She  answered  that  he  should  occupy  himself, 
that  he  should  find  something  to  do  and  do  it,  and  that  she 
herself  never  had  time  enough  in  the  day  for  all  she  undertook. 
It  was  the  sort  of  letter  which  a  very  young  woman  will  some 
times  write  to  a  man  whose  existence  she  does  not  understand, 
a  little  patronizing  in  tone  and  superior  with  the  self-assurance 
of  successful  and  unfeeling  youth.  She  even  pointed  out  to 
him  that  there  were  several  things  which  he  did  not  know,  but 
which  he  might  learn  if  he  chose,  all  of  which  was  undoubtedly 
true,  though  it  was  not  at  all  what  he  wanted.  For  him,  how 
ever,  the  whole  letter  was  redeemed  by  a  chance  phrase  at  the 
end  of  it.  She  carelessly  wrote  that  she  wished  he  were  at 
Muro  to  see  what  she  had  done  in  a  short  time.  He  knew  that 
the  words  meant  nothing,  but  he  lived  on  them  for  a  time, 
because  she  had  written  them  to  him.  His  next  letter  was 
more  cheerful.  He  repeated  her  own  words,  as  though  wishing 
her  to  see  how  much  he  valued  them,  saying  that  he  wished 
indeed  that  he  were  at  Muro,  to  see  what  she  had  accomplished. 


XX  TAQUISARA  235 

To  some  extent,  he  added,  the  fulfilment  of  the  wish  only 
depended  on  herself,  for  in  the  following  week  he  was  going 
with  his  father  and  mother  and  all  the  family  to  spend  a  month 
in  a  place  they  had  not  far  from  Avellino,  and  that,  as  she  knew, 
was  not  at  an  impossible  distance  from  Muro.  But  of  course 
he  could  not  intrude  alone  upon  her  solitude. 

When  she  next  wrote,  Veronica  made  no  reference  to  this  hint 
of  his.  The  man  was  not  the  same  person  to  her  as  the  cor 
respondent,  and  she  very  much  preferred  exchanging  letters 
with  him  to  any  conversation.  She  did  not  forget  what  he  had 
said,  however,  and  when  she  supposed  that  the  Delia  Spina 
family  had  gone  to  the  country  she  addressed  her  letters  to  him 
near  Avellino.  He  had  not  yet  gone,  however,  and  he  soon 
wrote  from  Naples  complaining  that  he  had  no  news  from  her. 

On  the  following  day  Veronica  was  surprised  to  receive  a 
letter  addressed  in  a  hand  she  did  not  know.  It  was  from 
Taquisara,  and  she  frowned  a  little  angrily  as  she  glanced  at  the 
signature  before  reading  the  contents.  It  began  in  the  formal 
Italian  manner, — "  Most  gentle  Princess," — and  it  ended  with 
an  equally  formal  assurance  of  respectful  devotion.  But  the 
matter  of  the  letter  showed  little  formality. 

"I  have  hesitated  long  before  writing  to  you" — it  said — 
"  both  because  I  offended  you  at  our  last  meeting  and  because 
I  have  not  been  sure,  until  to-day,  about  the  principal  matter 
of  which  I  have  to  speak.  In  the  first  place,  I  beg  you  to 
forgive  me  for  having  spoken  to  you  as  I  did  at  the  Princess 
Corleone's  house.  I  am  not  skilful  at  saying  disagreeable 
things  gracefully.  I  was  in  earnest,  and  I  meant  what  I  said, 
but  I  am  sincerely  sorry  that  I  should  have  said  it  rudely.  I 
earnestly  beg  you  to  pardon  the  form  which  my  intention  took. 

"  Secondly,  I  wish  very  much  that  I  might  see  you.  I  fear 
that  you  would  not  receive  me,  and  from  the  ordinary  point  of 
view  of  society  you  would  be  acting  quite  rightly,  since  you  are 
really  living  alone.  The  world,  however,  is  quite  sure  that  you 
have  a  companion,  an  elderly  gentlewoman  who  is  a  distant 
relation  of  yours.  It  will  never  be  persuaded  that  this  good 
lady  does  not  exist,  because  it  cannot  possibly  believe  that  you 
would  have  the  audacity  to  live  alone  in  your  own  house. 

"  I  wish  to  see  you,  because  my  friend  Gianluca  cannot  live 
much  longer.  You  may  remember  that  he  walked  with  diffi 
culty,  and  even  used  a  stick,  before  you  left  Naples.  He  can 
now  hardly  walk  at  all.  According  to  the  doctors,  he  has  a 


236  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

mortal  disease  of  the  spine  and  cannot  live  more  than  two  or 
three  months.  Perhaps  I  am  telling  you  this  very  roughly,  but 
it  cannot  pain  you  as  much  as  it  does  me,  and  you  ought  to 
know  it.  He  is  not  the  man  to  let  any  one  tell  you  of  his 
state,  and  I  have  taken  it  upon  myself  to  write  to  you  without 
asking  his  opinion.  I  told  you  once  what  you  were  to  him. 
All  that  I  told  you  is  ten  times  more  true,  now.  Between  you 
and  life,  he  would  not  choose,  if  he  could ;  but  he  is  losing 
both.  As  a  Christian  woman,  in  commonest  kindness,  if  you 
can  see  him  before  he  dies,  do  so.  And  you  can,  if  you  will. 
He  was  to  have  been  moved  to  the  place  near  Avellino  a  few 
days  ago,  but  he  was  too  ill.  They  all  leave  next  week,  unless 
he  should  be  worse.  You  are  strong  and  well,  and  it  would 
not  be  much  for  you  to  make  that  short  journey,  considering 
Gianluca's  condition. 

"  I  shall  not  tell  him  that  I  have  written  to  you,  and  I  leave 
to  you  to  let  him  know  of  my  writing,  or  not,  as  you  think  fit." 

Here  followed  the  little  final  phrase  and  the  signature. 
Veronica  let  the  sheet  fall  upon  her  table,  and  gazed  long  and 
steadily  at  the  tapestry  on  the  wall  opposite  her.  Her  hands 
clasped  each  other  suddenly  and  then  fell  apart  loosely  and  lay 
idle  before  her.  Her  head  sank  forward  a  little,  but  her  eyes 
still  held  the  point  on  which  they  were  looking. 

In  the  first  shock  of  knowing  that  Gianluca  was  to  die,  she 
felt  as  though  she  had  lost  a  part  of  him  already,  and  something 
she  dearly  valued  seemed  to  go  out  of  her  life.  Her  instinct 
was  not  to  go  to  him  and  see  him  while  she  could,  but  to  look 
forward  to  the  blankness  that  would  be  before  her  when  he 
should  be  gone.  Something  of  him  was  an  integral  part  of  her 
life.  But  there  was  something  of  him  for  which  she  felt  that 
she  hardly  cared  at  all. 

She  was  probably  selfish  in  the  common  sense  of  that  ill-used 
word.  It  is  generally  applied  to  persons  who  do  not  love  those 
that  love  them,  but  are  glad  of  their  existence,  as  it  were,  for 
the  sake  of  something  they  receive  and  perhaps  return — as 
Veronica  did.  But  she  did  not  ask  herself  questions,  for  she 
had  never  had  the  smallest  inclination  to  analysis  or  intro 
spection.  It  was  as  clear  to  her  as  ever  that  she  did  not  love 
Gianluca  in  the  least,  but  that  she  should  find  it  hard  to  be 
happy  without  him.  She  had  been  nearer  to  loving  poor  Bosio 
than  Gianluca,  though  the  truth  was  that  she  had  never  loved 
any  one  yet 


xx  TAQUISARA  237 

But  she  pitied  Gianluca  with  all  her  heart.  That  was  the 
most  she  could  do  for  that  part  of  him  which  was  nothing  to 
her,  and  her  face  grew  very  sad  as  she  thought  of  what  he 
might  be  suffering,  and  of  how  hard  it  must  be  to  die  so  young, 
with  all  the  world  before  one.  She  could  not  imagine  herself 
as  ever  dying. 

She  sat  still  a  long  time  and  tried  to  think  of  what  she  should 
do.  But  her  thoughts  wandered,  and  presently  she  found  that 
she  was  asking  herself  whether  it  were  her  destiny  to  be  fatal 
to  those  who  loved  her.  But  the  mere  idea  of  fatality  displeased 
her  as  something  which  could  oppose  her,  and  perhaps  defy 
her.  After  all,  Gianluca  might  not  die.  She  looked  over 
Taquisara's  letter  again. 

He  was  a  man  who  meant  what  he  said,  and  he  wrote  in 
earnest.  There  was  something  in  him  that  appealed  to  her,  as 
like  to  like.  He  had  been  rude  and  had  spoken  almost  inso 
lently,  and  even  now  he  dared  to  write  that  he  meant  what  he 
had  said  and  only  regretted  the  words  he  had  used.  For  them, 
indeed,  his  apology  was  sufficient — for  the  rest,  she  was  un 
decided.  She  went  on  to  what  referred  to  Gianluca,  and  her 
face  grew  grave  and  sad  again.  It  must  be  true. 

She  laid  the  letter  in  the  drawer  where  she  kept  Gianluca's, 
but  in  a  separate  corner,  by  itself.  Then  she  took  up  her  pen 
to  write  to  Gianluca,  intending  to  take  up  the  daily  written 
conversation  at  the  point  where  she  had  last  broken  off,  on  the 
previous  evening.  With  an  effort,  she  wrote  a  few  words,  and 
then  stopped  short  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  staring  at  the 
tapestry.  It  was  a  grim  farce  to  write  about  her  streets  and  her 
houses  and  her  charities  to  a  man  who  was  dying — and  who 
loved  her.  Yet  she  could  not  speak  of  his  illness  without 
letting  him  know  that  Taquisara  had  informed  her  of  it.  She 
tried  to  go  on,  and  stopped  again.  Poor  Gianluca — he  was  so 
young  !  All  at  once  her  pity  overflowed  unexpectedly,  and  she 
felt  the  tears  in  her  eyes  and  on  her  cheeks.  She  brushed  them 
away,  and  left  her  letter  unfinished. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  was  with  Don  Teodoro,  busy  about 
her  usual  occupations  and  plans.  But  she  was  absent-minded, 
and  matters  did  not  go  well.  She  left  him  earlier  than  usual 
and  shut  herself  up  in  her  own  room.  She  had  not  been  there 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  however,  before  she  felt  stifled  and 
oppressed  by  the  close  solitude,  and  she  came  out  again  and 
climbed  to  the  top  of  the  dungeon  tower,  where  the  little  plot 


238  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

of  cabbages  had  been  converted  into  a  tiny  flower  garden,  and 
the  roses  were  all  in  bloom. 

With  the  rising  of  her  pity  had  come  the  desire  to  see  Gian- 
luca  and  talk  with  him.  She  could  not  tell  why  she  wished  it 
so  much,  after  having  felt  so  horribly  indifferent  at  first,  but  the 
wish  was  there,  and  like  all  her  wishes,  now,  it  must  be  satisfied 
without  delay.  She  was  supremely  powerful  in  her  little  moun 
tain  town,  and  on  the  whole  she  was  using  her  power  very 
wisely.  But  her  dominant  character  was  rapidly  growing 
despotic,  and  it  irritated  her  strangely  to  want  anything  which 
she  could  not  have.  She  had  almost  forgotten  that  society  had 
any  general  claims  upon  people  who  chance  to  belong  to  it, 
and  the  sudden  recollection  that  if  she  went  down  to  Naples, 
she  could  not  go  and  see  Gianluca,  even  under  his  father's  and 
mother's  roof,  and  talk  with  him  if  she  pleased,  was  indescrib 
ably  offensive  to  her  over-grown  sense  of  independence.  Nor 
could  she  invite  herself  to  Avellino  to  pay  a  visit  to  Gianluca's 
mother.  She  understood  enough  of  the  customs  of  the  world 
with  which  she  had  really  lived  so  little,  to  know  that  such  a 
thing  was  impossible. 

If  she  could  not  see  him  in  Naples  and  could  not  go  to  see 
him  at  his  father's  place,  he  must  come  to  Muro.  It  flashed 
upon  her  that  she  had  a  right  to  ask  the  whole  Delia  Spina 
family  to  spend  a  week  with  her  if  she  chose.  They  might 
think  it  extraordinary  if  they  pleased — it  would  be  an  invitation, 
after  all,  and  the  worst  that  could  happen  would  be  that  the 
old  Duchessa  might  refuse  it.  But  Veronica  never  anticipated 
refusals. 

As  for  Gianluca,  if  he  were  well  enough  to  be  taken  to 
Avellino,  he  could  be  brought  to  Muro.  A  journey  by  carriage 
was  no  more  tiring  than  one  by  railway,  and  the  change  and 
excitement  would  perhaps  do  him  good.  The  more  she 
thought  of  the  possibility  of  her  plan  as  compared  with  the 
impracticable  nature  of  any  other  which  suggested  itself,  the 
more  she  looked  forward  with  pleasure  to  seeing  him — and  the 
more  clearly  it  seemed  to  her  an  act  of  kindness  to  give  him  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  her. 

And  between  her  reflexions,  strengthening  her  intention  and 
hastening  her  action,  there  returned  the  real  and  deep  sorrow 
she  felt  at  the  thought  of  losing  her  best  friend,  and  the 
genuine  pity  she  now  felt  for  him,  apart  from  the  selfish  con 
sideration  which  had  come  first. 


xx  TAQUISARA  239 

In  the  singular  and  anomalous  position  she  had  created  for 
herself,  there  was  no  one  whom  she  could  consult.  As  for 
asking  Don  Teodoro's  opinion,  it  never  entered  her  head,  for  it 
would  have  been  impossible  to  do  so  without  confiding  to  him 
the  nature  of  her  friendship  with  Gianluca.  She  would  not  do 
that  now.  She  had  first  told  Bianca  Corleone  frankly  enough 
of  the  exchange  of  letters,  but  she  herself  had  not  then  known 
what  that  secret  friendship  was  to  mean  in  her  life,  nor  how 
she  and  Gianluca  would  almost  conceal  it  from  each  other. 
Besides,  she  was  accustomed  now  to  impose  her  will  upon  the 
old  priest  as  she  imposed  it  upon  every  one  in  her  surroundings. 
When  she  asked  his  advice,  it  was  about  matters  of  expediency, 
and  that  happened  every  day,  but  she  would  not  have  thought 
of  taking  counsel  with  him  about  any  action  which  concerned 
herself.  If  society  chanced  to  be  in  opposition  to  her,  society 
must  either  give  way  or  make  the  best  of  it,  or  break  with  her. 
But  it  was  certainly  within  the  bounds  of  social  tradition  and 
custom  that  she  should  ask  such  of  her  friends  as  she  chose,  to 
stay  with  her  under  her  own  roof. 

One  small  practical  difficulty  met  her,  and  it  was  characteristic 
of  her  that  it  was  the  only  one  to  which  she  paid  any  attention 
after  she  had  made  up  her  mind.  She  could  have  found  fifty 
rooms  for  guests  in  the  castle,  but  there  were  certainly  not  three 
which  were  now  sufficiently  furnished  to  be  habitable  as  bed 
rooms.  She  had  changed  the  face  of  the  town  in  three  months, 
but  she  had  not  at  all  improved  her  own  establishment.  There 
were  foresters  and  men  occupied  upon  the  estates  who  came  and 
went  as  their  work  required,  and  there  were  generally  four  or 
five  of  them  in  the  house ;  but  she  was  served  by  women,  and 
there  was  not  a  man-servant  in  the  place.  She  had  only  five 
horses  in  her  stable.  She  glanced  at  the  black  frock  she  wore 
and  smiled,  realizing  for  the  first  time  what  Elettra  had  meant 
by  protesting  against  her  wearing  it  any  longer. 

But  none  of  the  details  were  of  a  nature  to  check  such  a 
woman  in  anything  she  really  wished.  If  she  chose  to  be  waited 
on  by  women  and  to  wear  old  clothes,  that  was  her  affair  and 
concerned  no  one  else.  As  for  a  little  furniture  more  or  less, 
she  could  get  all  she  wanted  from  Naples  in  three  or  four  days. 


240  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

VERONICA  had  little  doubt  but  that  her  invitation  would  be 
accepted  by  the  Delia  Spina.  Had  she  been  as  worldly  wise,  as 
she  was  practical  in  most  things,  she  would  have  had  no  doubts 
at  all,  though  she  would  have  hesitated  long  before  writing  to 
the  Duchessa.  For  of  two  things,  one  or  the  other  must  happen. 
Gianluca  must  either  die,  or  not  die ;  in  the  first  case  the  least 
which  his  family  could  do  would  be  to  give  him  the  opportunity 
of  seeing  the  woman  he  loved,  before  his  death,  and,  in  the 
second,  such  an  invitation  on  Veronica's  part  was  almost  equiva 
lent  to  consenting  to  marry  him  if  he  recovered.  To  every  one 
except  Veronica  herself,  the  marriage  would  have  seemed  in 
every  way  as  desirable  as  any  that  could  be  proposed  to  her, 
both  for  herself  and  for  Gianluca. 

Her  invitation  was  received  with  mingled  astonishment  and 
delight  and  was  duly  communicated  to  Gianluca  himself. 
Veronica  had  written  to  him  at  the  same  time,  and  he  had 
already  read  her  letter  telling  him  of  her  plan,  when  his  father 
and  mother  entered  the  room  where  he  was  lying  near  his  open 
window,  towards  evening.  They  were  good  people,  and  simple, 
according  to  their  lights,  and  they  were  devotedly  attached  to 
their  eldest  son.  The  love  of  Italians  for  their  children  often 
goes  to  lengths  which  would  amaze  northern  people.  It  may  be 
that  where  there  are  few  love-matches,  as  in  the  old  Italian 
society,  the  natural  ties  of  blood  are  stronger  than  in  countries 
where  men  leave  everything  for  the  women  they  love. 

The  Duchessa's  chief  preoccupation  and  anxiety  concerned 
her  son's  strength  to  bear  the  journey.  From  day  to  day  the 
family  had  been  on  the  point  of  moving  to  Avellino,  and  the 
departure  had  been  put  off  because  Gianluca's  condition  seemed 
altogether  too  precarious.  It  would  be  an  even  more  serious 
matter  to  convey  him  safely  to  Muro ;  and  between  her  extreme 
anxiety  for  his  health,  and  her  wish  that  he  might  be  able  to  go, 
the  Duchessa  was  almost  distracted.  But  neither  she  nor  her 
husband  knew  that  the  doctors  despaired  of  his  life.  The  truth 
had  been  kept  from  them,  and  Taquisara  had  extracted  it  from 
one  of  the  physicians  with  considerable  difficulty,  having  more 
than  half  guessed  it  during  the  past  two  months. 

At  the  mere  suggestion  of  going  to  Muro,  Gianluca  had 
revived,  reading  Veronica's  letter  alone  to  himself  in  his  room. 


xxi  TAQUISARA  241 

When  he  heard  that  the  invitation  had  actually  come,  he  seemed 
suddenly  so  much  better  that  the  tears  started  to  the  old  Duca's 
weak  eyes. 

"  We  must  go,"  said  the  old  gentleman  to  his  wife,  as  they 
left  Gianluca  to  consult  together.  "  What  is  the  use  of  denying 
it  ?  It  is  passion.  If  he  does  not  marry  that  girl,  he  will  die 
of  it." 

"  Of  course  she  means  to  marry  him,"  answered  the  Duchessa, 
her  voice  tremulous  with  nervous  delight.  "  It  is  not  imaginable 
that  she  should  ask  us  to  visit  her,  unless  she  means  that  she 
has  changed  her  mind  !  It  would  be  an  outrage — an  insult — it 
would  be  nothing  short  of  an  abominable  action — I  would 
strangle  her  with  these  hands  ! " 

The  prematurely  old  woman  shook  her  weak  fingers  in  the 
air,  and  her  passionate  love  for  her  son  lent  her  feeble  features 
the  momentary  dignity  of  righteous  anger. 

"  I  should  hardly  doubt  that  she  would  marry  him  after  this," 
said  the  Duca,  thoughtfully.  "  And  besides — where  could  she 
find  a  better  husband  ?  It  is  passion  that  has  made  him  ill." 

But  it  was  not.  In  what  they  said  of  Veronica's  probable 
intention  they  were  not  altogether  wrong,  however,  from  their 
point  of  view.  They  were  in  complete  ignorance  of  the  long- 
continued  correspondence  between  her  and  Gianluca,  and  had 
they  known  of  it,  they  could  not  possibly  have  understood  her 
way  of  looking  at  the  matter.  Such  a  character  as  hers  was 
altogether  beyond  their  comprehension,  and  they  practically 
knew  nothing  of  the  circumstances  that  had  lately  developed  it 
so  quickly.  As  for  her  mode  of  life,  they  believed,  as  most 
people  did,  that  she  had  a  companion  in  the  person  of  an 
elderly  gentlewoman  whom  she  had  chosen  for  the  purpose 
among  her  distant  relations. 

Even  Taquisara  thought  substantially  as  they  did,  and  he  was 
a  man  singularly  regardless  of  conventions.  It  was  true  that  he 
was  almost  as  ignorant  of  the  state  of  affairs  as  Gianluca's  father 
and  mother.  After  the  first  exchange  of  letters  Gianluca  had 
grown  suddenly  reticent.  So  long  as  Veronica  had  seemed 
altogether  beyond  his  reach  he  had  not  hesitated  to  confide  in 
the  brave  and  honourable  man  who  was  such  a  devoted  friend 
to  him;  but  as  soon  as  he  began  to  feel  himself  growing 
intimate  with  Veronica,  he  ceased  to  speak  of  her  except  in 
general  terms.  Taquisara,  if  he  had  ever  felt  the  need  of 
confidence,  would  have  stopped  at  the  same  point,  or  earlier,, 


242  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

and  he  understood,  and  did  not  press  Gianluca  with  questions. 
The  latter  had  said  that  from  time  to  time  Donna  Veronica  had 
been  kind  enough  to  write  to  him — but  that  was  all,  and  he 
never  said  it  again.  When  the  Sicilian  heard  of  the  invitation 
to  Muro,  however,  he  felt  that  he  had  a  right  to  express  himself, 
since  the  matter  was  an  open  one  and  concerned  the  whole 
family.  He  felt,  too,  an  immense  satisfaction  in  having  produced 
so  great  a  result  by  his  letter. 

He  had  written  to  Veronica  what  the  doctor  had  told  him 
about  the  general  verdict  after  the  last  consultation.  For  him 
self,  his  faith  in  doctors  was  not  by  any  means  blind,  and  he 
was  not  without  some  hope  that  Gianluca  might  recover.  At 
all  events,  it  was  his  duty  to  cheer  the  man  as  far  as  he  could, 
and  he  imagined  nothing  more  likely  to  produce  a  good  effect 
than  the  now  reasonable  suggestion  that  Veronica  might  possibly 
change  her  mind. 

"Of  course,"  he  said  to  Gianluca,  "the  whole  situation  is 
extraordinary  beyond  anything  I  ever  knew.  But  since  Donna 
Veronica  has  left  her  aunt,  no  one  can  dispute  her  right  to  do 
as  she  pleases.  An  invitation  to  you  and  your  family  means  a 
reopening  of  the  question  of  the  marriage.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  of  that.  In  my  opinion,  she  has  reconsidered  the  matter 
and  means  to  accept  you,  after  all." 

Gianluca  smiled,  and  his  sunken  eyes  brightened.  But  he 
would  not  admit  that  he  really  had  any  hopes. 

"  I  wish  I  were  as  sanguine  as  you,"  he  answered. 

"  If  you  had  my  temperament,  you  would  not  be  where  you 
are,  my  dear  friend,"  replied  Taquisara,  with  a  dry  laugh.  "  I 
look  at  the  world  differently.  My  life  may  not  be  worth  much, 
but  it  is  mine,  and  I  would  not  let  a  man  take  it  from  me  with 
his  hands,  nor  a  woman  with  her  eyes — without  fighting  for  it, 
if  I  had  the  chance." 

"  How  can  a  man  fight  against  a  woman  ?  "  laughed  Gianluca, 
for  he  was  very  happy. 

"  You  fight  a  man  by  facing  him,  and  a  woman  by  turning 
your  back  on  her,"  said  Taquisara.  "  There  are  more  women 
in  the  world  than  there  are  men  to  love  them,  after  all.  For 
one  that  will  not  have  you,  there  are  three  who  will.  Take  one 
of  the  three." 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?  You  always  say  that  you 
were  never  really  in  love.  How  can  you  tell  what  you  would 
do?" 


xxi  TAQUISARA  243 

"I  suppose  I  cannot  be  quite  sure.  But  then — the  thing 
is  ridiculous !  A  man  must  be  half  a  poet,  he  must  have 
sensibilities,  ideals,  visions,  a  nervous  heart,  an  exaggerating  eye 
and  a  mind  sensitized  like  a  photographer's  plate  to  receive 
impressions  !  Do  you  see  me  provided  with  all  that  stuff?  " 

He  laughed  again,  somewhat  intentionally,  for  he  meant  to 
amuse  Gianluca. 

"Nor  myself  either,"  answered  the  latter.  "I  am  much 
simpler  than  you  imagine." 

"  Are  you  ?  So  much  the  better.  But  it  makes  very  little 
difference,  since  you  are  to  be  happy,  after  all.  Seriously,  I  do 
not  believe  that  this  invitation  can  mean  anything  else.  If  it 
does — if  she  is  not  in  earnest — "  he  checked  himself. 

Gianluca  looked  at  him  and  did  not  understand  his  ex 
pression. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  say  ?  "  asked  the  younger  man, 
with  some  curiosity. 

"  Then  take  one  of  the  other  three ', "  said  Taquisara, 
roughly,  and  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  walked  to  the  window. 

The  Duchessa's  answer  to  Veronica  was  dignified  and 
friendly.  After  expressing  her  cordial  thanks  for  the  invitation, 
she  went  on  to  say  that  besides  the  pleasure  it  would  give  her 
and  her  son  to  spend  a  few  days  under  Veronica's  hospitable 
roof,  she  was  too  well  acquainted  by  hearsay  with  the  splendid 
climate  and  situation  of  Muro  to  refuse  an  offer,  by  accepting 
which  she  might  contribute  much  to  Gianluca's  recovery,  and 
she  went  on  to  speak  of  the  high  mountain  air  and  the  sun 
shine  of  the  Basilicata.  There  was  truth  in  what  she  said,  of 
course,  and  she  was  too  proud  not  to  make  the  most  of  it, 
entirely  passing  over  more  personal  matters  in  order  to  give  it 
the  greatest  possible  prominence.  As  for  Taquisara,  though 
she  guessed  that  he  was  almost  indispensable  to  Gianluca  in 
Naples,  she  made  no  mention  of  him.  It  would  have  been 
easy  for  her  to  suggest  that  he  also  might  be  invited,  but  she 
suspected  that  her  son  could  do  without  him  well  enough  when 
privileged  to  see  Veronica  every  day ;  moreover,  he  would  be 
in  the  way,  and  would  probably  himself  fall  in  love  with  his 
young  hostess,  who,  in  her  turn,  might  take  a  sudden  fancy  to 
the  handsome  Sicilian. 

It  was  not  until  the  things  which  Veronica  hastily  ordered 
from  Naples  arrived  in  huge  carts  from  Eboli  that  she  began  to 
reflect  seriously  upon  what  she  had  done  under  a  sudden 


244  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

impulse.  The  Duchessa  wrote  that  she  should  require  four  or 
five  days  to  reach  Muro,  by  easy  stages,  and  there  was  plenty 
of  time  to  make  preparations  for  receiving  the  party.  After  the 
letter  had  come,  Veronica  spoke  to  Don  Teodoro,  who  had 
noticed  her  extreme  preoccupation  and  was  wondering  what 
could  have  happened. 

"I  think  I  understand,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  quietly. 
"It  is  right — you  are  young,  but  the  years  pass  very  quickly." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Veronica,  whose  sad  face  still 
puzzled  him. 

"  What  can  their  coming  mean  ?  "  he  asked,  in  reply,  with  a 
smile. 

"  What  ?  It  is  I  who  do  not  understand — or  you — or  both 
of  us.  Don  Gianluca  and  I  are  friends.  He  is  very,  very  ill. 
The  doctors  say  that  he  cannot  live  many  months,  and  unless  I 
see  him  now,  I  shall  never  see  him  again." 

The  old  priest  gazed  at  her  in  distressed  surprise,  and  for  a 
long  time  he  found  nothing  to  say.  Veronica  remained  silent, 
scarcely  conscious  of  his  presence,  leaning  back  in  her  chair, 
with  folded  hands  and  sorrowful  eyes.  The  thought  that 
Gianluca  was  to  die  was  becoming  more  and  more  unceasingly 
painful,  day  by  day.  The  fact  that  he  wrote  regularly  to  her, 
and  yet  never  spoke  of  his  condition,  made  it  worse;  for  it 
proved  to  her  that  he  could  be  brave  rather  than  knowingly 
increase  her  anxiety,  and  the  suffering  of  a  brave  man  gets 
more  true  sympathy  from  women  than  the  cruel  death  of  many 
cowards. 

"I  think  you  are  very  rash,"  said  Don  Teodoro,  gravely, 
breaking  the  silence  at  last. 

Veronica  turned  upon  him  instantly,  with  wide  and  gleaming 
eyes,  amazed  at  the  slightest  sign  of  opposition,  criticism,  or 
advice. 

"  Rash  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Why  ?  Have  I  not  the  right  to 
ask  whom  I  please,  and  will,  to  stay  under  my  own  roof? 
Who  has  authority  over  me,  to  say  that  I  shall  have  this  one 
for  a  friend,  or  that  one,  old  or  young  ?  Am  I  a  free  woman, 
or  a  schoolgirl,  or  a  puppet  doll,  to  which  the  world  can  tie 
strings  to  make  me  dance  to  its  silly  music  ?  Rash !  What 
rashness  is  there  in  asking  my  friend  and  his  father  and  mother 
here  ?  My  dear  Don  Teodoro,  you  will  be  telling  me  before 
long  that  I  should  take  some  broken-down  old  lady  for  a 
companion  ! " 


XXI  TAQUISARA  245 

"  I  have  sometimes  wondered  that  you  do  not  send  for  one 
of  your  relations,"  said  the  priest,  who,  mild  as  he  was,  could 
not  easily  be  daunted  when  he  believed  himself  right. 

"  I  will  make  my  house  a  refuge,  or  a  hospital  if  need  be,  for 
our  poor  people,"  answered  Veronica ;  "  but  not  for  my  rela 
tions,  whom  I  have  never  seen.  I  send  them  money  some 
times,  but  they  shall  not  come  here  to  beg.  That  would  be 
too  much.  I  had  enough  of  those  I  knew.  I  am  willing  to 
feed  anything  that  needs  food  except  vultures.  I  have  chosen 
to  live  alone,  and  alone  I  will  live.  The  world  may  scream 
itself  mad  and  crack  with  horror  at  my  doings,  if  it  is  so 
sensitive.  It  cannot  hurt  me,  and  if  I  choose  to  shut  my 
gates,  it  cannot  get  in.  Besides,  they  are  coming,  the  Duca, 
the  Duchessa,  and  Don  Gianluca,  and  that  ends  the  matter." 

"Nevertheless — "  began  Don  Teodoro,  still  obstinately 
unwilling  to  retract  his  word. 

"  Dear  friend,"  interrupted  Veronica,  with  sudden  gentleness, 
for  she  was  fond  of  him,  "  I  like  you  very  much.  I  respect 
you  immensely.  I  could  not  do  half  I  am  doing  without  you. 
But  you  do  not  quite  understand  me,  I  am  sorry  that  you 
should  think  me  rash,  if  the  idea  of  rashness  is  unpleasant  to 
you — I  will  make  any  other  concession  in  reason  rather  than 
quarrel  with  you.  But  please  do  not  argue  with  me  when  I 
have  made  up  my  mind.  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  shall  have  my 
own  way  in  the  end,  and  when  the  end  comes,  you  will  be  very 
glad  that  you  could  not  hinder  me,  because  I  am  altogether 
right.  Now  we  understand  each  other,  do  we  not  ?  " 

Don  Teodoro  could  not  help  smiling  in  a  hopeless  sort  of 
way,  and  he  lifted  his  hands  a  moment,  spreading  out  the 
palms  as  though  to  express  that  he  cleared  his  conscience  of  all 
possible  responsibility.  So  they  parted  good  friends,  without 
further  words. 

But  when  Veronica  was  alone,  she  began  to  realize  that  Don 
Teodoro  was  not  so  altogether  in  the  wrong  as  she  believed 
herself  to  be  in  the  right.  People  might  certainly  be  found 
whom  she  could  not  class  with  the  world  she  so  frankly  despised, 
and  who  would  say  that  if  Gianluca  recovered  she  should 
marry  him,  after  extending  such  an  invitation  to  him  and  his 
people,  and  that,  if  she  did  not,  she  would  deserve  to  be  called 
a  heartless  flirt — from  their  point  of  view.  Gianluca's  father 
and  mother  might  say  so. 

He  himself,  at  least,  must  know  her  better  than  that,  she 


246  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

thought.  And  then,  there  was  the  terrible  earnestness  of 
Taquisara's  letter,  the  sober  statement  of  his  best  friend,  next 
to  herself,  and  a  statement  which  it  must  have  cost  the  man 
something  to  make,  since  it  was  necessarily  accompanied  by  an 
apology.  After  all,  though  he  had  insulted  her,  she  liked 
Taquisara  for  the  whole-hearted  way  in  which  he  took  Gianluca's 
part  in  everything.  There  was  that  statement,  and  she  felt  that 
it  was  a  true  one.  Gianluca  was  more  to  her  than  any  one  she 
knew,  in  a  way  which  no  one  could  understand,  and  she  had  a 
right  to  see  him  before  he  died.  If,  by  any  happy  chance,  he 
should  live,  people  might  perhaps  talk.  She  should  not  care, 
for  she  should  have  done  right.  That  was  the  way  in  which 
she  accounted  to  herself  for  her  action ;  but  the  consciousness 
that  Don  Teodoro  was  not  quite  wrong  was  there.  She  remem 
bered  it  afterwards,  when  the  fatality  that  was  quietly  lying  in 
wait  for  her  raised  its  head  from  ambush  and  stared  her  in  the 
face.  But  then,  at  the  first  beginning,  she  was  angry  with  the 
old  priest  for  trying  to  oppose  her. 

There  was  not  more  than  time  to  finish  the  preparations, 
after  all,  for  she  received  a  note  from  the  Duchessa,  written 
from  Eboli,  saying  that  they  would  arrive  a  day  earlier  than 
they  had  expected,  as  the  heat  in  the  plain  was  intense,  and 
they  were  anxious  to  get  Gianluca  to  a  cooler  region  of  the 
mountains  as  soon  as  possible.  Veronica  had  written,  too, 
placing  the  castle  at  Laviano  at  their  disposal,  as  a  resting-place, 
so  as  to  break  the  journey  more  easily  for  the  invalid,  and  she 
sent  men  over  to  see  that  all  was  in  order  and  to  take  a  few 
necessary  things  for  the  guests. 

It  was  a  sort  of  caravan  that  at  last  halted  before  the  fountain 
of  Muro,  at  the  entrance  to  the  village.  Veronica  had  been 
warned  of  their  near  approach,  and  was  there  to  meet  them, 
with  Don  Teodoro  by  her  side. 

First  came  the  Duca  and  Duchessa  together  in  a  huge  carriage 
drawn  by  four  horses,  with  three  servants,  two  men  and  a  maid. 
Veronica  could  not  see  past  the  vehicle,  as  it  blocked  the  way, 
and  she  stopped  beside  it  to  greet  the  couple. 

"My  dear  child!"  cried  the  Duchessa.  "We  shall  never 
forget  your  kindness,  and  all  the  trouble  you  have  taken ! 
Gianluca  is  in  the  next  carriage.  I  think  you  have  saved  his 
life!" 

There  was  a  sort  of  inoffensive  motherliness  in  her  tone 
which  surprised  Veronica — a  suggestion  of  possession  that 


xxi  TAQUISARA  247 

irritated  her.  But  she  smiled,  said  a  few  words,  and  ordered 
the  carriage  to  move  on, — an  operation  which,  though  difficult 
in  such  a  narrow  way,  was  possible  since  she  had  improved  and 
paved  the  streets.  A  couple  of  her  men  walked  before  the 
horses  to  clear  the  way  of  the  women  and  children  and  the  few 
men  who  were  not  away  at  work,  for  the  news  of  the  arrival 
had  spread,  and  the  people  flocked  together  to  see  whether  the 
visitors  would  bear  comparison  with  their  princess. 

As  the  carriage  rolled  into  the  street,  Veronica  went  up  to 
meet  the  next.  It  was  a  very  long  landau,  and  in  it  Gianluca 
was  almost  lying  down,  his  pale  face  and  golden  beard  in  strong 
relief  against  a  dark  brown  silk  cushion.  To  Veronica's  amaze 
ment,  Taquisara  sat  beside  him,  calmly  smoking  one  of  those 
long  black  cigars  which  he  preferred  to  all  others.  He  threw 
it  away,  when  he  saw  her.  She  shook  hands  frankly  with 
Gianluca. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  are  here,"  she  said,  kindly  and  cheer 
fully.  "  You  will  get  well  here.  How  do  you  do  ?  "  she  added, 
turning  to  Taquisara  as  naturally  as  though  she  had  expected 
him,  for  she  supposed  that  there  must  have  been  some  mis 
understanding. 

He  explained  his  coming  in  a  few  words,  before  Gianluca 
could  finish  the  sentence  he  began. 

"  He  hates  strangers,"  he  said,  "  and  I  came  up  with  him,  to 
be  of  use  on  the  journey.  I  am  going  back  at  once." 

"  You  will  not  go  back  this  evening,  at  all  events,"  answered 
Veronica,  with  a  little  hospitable  smile. 

She  was  grateful  to  him  for  Gianluca's  sake,  both  for  his 
letter  and  for  having  accompanied  his  friend.  For  what  had 
gone  before,  he  had  apologized  and  was  forgiven. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  answered.  "I  think  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  go  back  this  afternoon." 

"  Has  he  any  engagement  that  obliges  him  to  return?"  asked 
Veronica  of  Gianluca. 

As  she  turned  to  him,  she  met  his  deep  blue  eyes,  fixed  on 
her  face  with  a  strange  look,  half  happy,  half  hungry,  half 
appealing. 

"  He  has  no  engagement  that  I  know  of,"  he  answered. 

" Then  you  will  stay,"  she  said  to  Taquisara.  "Go  on ! " 
she  added  to  the  coachman,  without  giving  time  for  any  further 
answer. 

There  was  a  note  in  her  short  speech  which  the  Sicilian  had 


248  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

never  heard  before  then.  It  was  the  tone  of  command — not  of 
the  drill-sergeant,  but  of  the  conqueror.  He  almost  laughed  to 
himself  as  the  carriage  moved  slowly  on,  while  Veronica  and 
Don  Teodoro  followed  on  foot. 

"  You  must  stay,  if  she  wishes  it,"  said  Gianluca,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  am  not  used  to  being  ordered  to  quarters  in  that  way," 
answered  Taquisara,  smiling  in  genuine  amusement.  "I  can 
be  of  no  more  use  to  you  when  I  have  got  you  up  to  your 
room,  and  I  think  I  shall  go  back  as  I  intended." 

"I  would  not,  if  I  were  you.  After  all,  it  is  a  hospitable 
invitation,  and  you  cannot  invent  any  reasonable  excuse  for 
refusing  to  stay  at  least  one  night.  The  horses  are  worn  out, 
too.  You  have  no  pretext." 

"  Perhaps  not.     I  will  see." 

The  carriages  moved  at  a  foot  pace.  As  Veronica  walked 
along  she  nodded  and  spoke  to  many  of  the  poor  people,  who 
drew  back  into  their  doors  from  the  narrow  way.  Behind  her 
came  two  more  carriages  laden  with  luggage,  and  one  of  her 
own  men  on  horseback  closed  the  procession.  By  urging  his 
stout  beast  up  all  the  short  cuts,  he  had  accomplished  the  feat 
of  keeping  up  with  the  vehicles. 

When  they  reached  the  castle  gate,  the  Delia  Spina's  two 
men-servants  jumped  down  and  got  a  sort  of  sedan  chair  from 
amongst  the  luggage,  but  Gianluca  would  not  have  it. 

"  I  can  walk  to-day,"  he  said.  "  Help  me,  Taquisara.  Have 
you  got  my  stick  ?  Thank  you.  No,  do  not  lift  me.  Let  me 
get  out  alone  !  I  am  sure  that  I  can  do  it." 

Pale  as  he  was,  he  blushed  with  annoyance  at  his  feeble  state, 
when  he  saw  Veronica's  anxious  eyes  watching  his  movements. 

It  was  early  yet,  but  the  August  sun  sank  behind  the  lofty 
heights  to  westward,  as  he  set  his  foot  upon  the  ground. 
Taquisara's  arm  was  around  him,  and  the  Sicilian's  face  was 
quiet  and  unconcerned,  but  Veronica  saw  the  straining  of  the 
brown  hand  that  supported  the  tall  invalid,  and  she  knew  that 
Gianluca  could  not  have  stood  alone.  But  he  would  not  let 
the  servants  come  near  him.  The  old  Duca  and  his  wife 
touched  his  sleeve  and  asked  him  nervous,  futile  questions,  and 
begged  him  to  allow  himself  to  be  carried.  Veronica  stood  in 
front,  ready  to  lead  the  way. 

"  No,  no ! "  exclaimed  Gianluca,  answering  his  mother.  "  You 
see.  I  can  walk  very  well  to-day,  with  scarcely  any  help." 

But  his  first  step  was   unsteady,  and   the  next  was  slow. 


XXI  TAQUISARA  249 

Veronica  heard  the  uncertain  footfall  on  the  flagstones  and 
turned  again. 

"Will  you  take  my  arm  on  this  side?"  she  asked,  gently, 
placing  herself  on  his  right,  away  from  Taquisara. 

He  hesitated,  smiled,  and  then  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm, 
and  she  and  Taquisara  led  him  in  together,  the  old  couple 
following,  and  looking  at  each  other  in  silence  from  time  to 
time.  Through  the  dark,  inclined  way,  they  all  went  up  slowly 
into  the  courtyard  and  under  the  low  door,  dark  even  on  that 
summer's  afternoon,  slowly,  stopping  at  every  dozen  paces  and 
then  moving  on  again,  Taquisara  almost  carrying  his  friend 
with  his  right  arm,  while  Veronica  steadied  him  on  the  other 
side,  till  they  came  out  at  last  into  a  room  which  had  been 
furnished  as  a  sort  of  sitting-room  and  library,  especially  for 
Gianluca's  use.  He  sank  down  into  a  deep  chair  facing  the 
window,  and  drew  breath,  as  he  sought  Veronica's  eyes. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  said,  faintly.  "  But  you  see  how 
much  better  I  am,"  he  added  at  once,  in  a  more  cheerful  tone. 
"It  is  the  first  walk  I  have  taken  for  several  days  Donna 
Veronica.  I  have  really  been  ill,  you  know." 

"  I  know  you  have,"  she  said,  and  she  turned  quickly  away, 
for  she  felt  more  than  she  cared  to  show  just  then. 

Possibly  the  Uuca  and  his  wife  were  too  much  preoccupied 
about  their  son's  condition  to  think  seriously  of  what  was  taking 
place,  but  it  was  strange  enough  in  its  way,  and  Taquisara 
thought  so  as  he  looked  on,  and  wondered  what  Neapolitan 
society  would  think  if  it  could  stand,  as  one  man,  in  his  place, 
and  see  with  his  eyes,  knowing  what  he  knew.  But  he  had  not 
much  time  for  reflexion.  Veronica's  women  had  brought 
Gianluca  wine,  and  his  mother  was  giving  him  certain  drops  of 
a  stimulant  in  a  glass  of  fragrant  old  malvoisie,  while  his  father 
bent  over  him  anxiously,  still  asking  useless  questions.  Vero 
nica  beckoned  Taquisara  aside,  and  they  stood  together  behind 
Gianluca's  chair. 

"That  is  his  bedroom,"  she  said,  pointing  to  one  of  the 
doors,  "  and  that  is  yours,"  she  added,  pointing  to  one  opposite. 

"  Mine  ?     But  you  did  not  expect  me — " 

"  I  naturally  supposed  that  he  would  have  a  man  with  him, 
to  take  care  of  him,"  she  answered.  "  If  you  are  really  his 
friend,  as  you  say  you  are,  stay  with  him.  You  see  that  he 
cannot  get  about  without  you.  If  either  of  you  need  anything, 
ask  for  it,"  she  added,  before  he  could  reply. 


250  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"I  would  rather  not  stay,"  said  Taquisara,  looking  gravely 
into  her  face. 

"  Have  you  a  good  reason  ?  What  is  it  ? "  Her  features 
hardened  a  little. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  my  reason.     It  concerns  myself." 

"  Then  try  and  forget  yourself,  for  you  are  needed  here,"  she 
answered,  almost  sternly. 

For  two  or  three  seconds  they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes, 
neither  yielding.  Then  Taquisara  gave  way. 

"I  will  stay,"  he  said,  shortly,  and  he  turned  his  face  from  her, 
with  a  sort  of  effort.  "Is  there  a  doctor  here?"  he  asked,  looking 
towards  the  group  of  persons  who  stood  around  Gianluca. 

"Yes — a  good  one,  whom  I  have  lately  brought.  Shall  I 
send  for  him  ?  Do  you  think  he  is  worse  ?  "  She  asked  the 
question  anxiously. 

"  No.  No  doctors  can  do  him  any  good — but  if  he  should 
be  suddenly  worse,  after  the  long  journey — " 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  likely? "asked  Veronica,  interrupting  him 
in  a  tone  of  increasing  anxiety. 

He  turned  to  her  again,  and  watched  her  face,  curiously, 
wondering  whether  she  loved  the  man,  after  all. 

"  I  hope  not,"  he  answered,  quietly.  "  But  it  was  a  fatiguing 
drive,  and  he  hardly  slept  at  all  last  night.  I  suppose  that 
the  excitement  kept  him  awake.  He  should  rest  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Veronica.  "  I  will  take  his  father  and 
mother  away  and  give  them  tea.  Stay  with  him  and  make  him 
lie  down  and  sleep,  if  possible.  Dinner  is  at  half-past  seven. 
Let  me  know  if  we  are  to  wait  for  him." 

She  went  to  Gianluca's  side  and  spoke  to  the  Duchessa. 

"  Shall  I  show  you  your  rooms  ?  "  she  asked.  "Then  we  can 
have  tea.  Don  Gianluca  must  be  tired,  and  he  should  have 
quiet  and  rest  before  dinner — or  if  he  prefers  it,  we  will  not 
expect  him  to-night.  Sleep  first,  and  decide  afterwards,"  she 
added,  addressing  Gianluca  himself,  and  her  tone  grew  suddenly 
gentle  as  she  spoke  to  him. 

"  You  are  very  wise  for  your  age,  my  dear  child  ! "  answered 
the  Duchessa,  in  the  motherly  tone  that  irritated  Veronica. 

The  old  gentleman  nodded  gravely,  being  quite  too  much  pre 
occupied  and  surprised  to  judge  at  all  of  his  hostess's  wisdom, 
but  delighted  with  the  effect  which  the  change  of  air  seemed 
already  to  have  produced  upon  Gianluca. 


XXI  TAQUISARA  251 

They  went  away  together,  leaving  the  invalid  with  Taquisara 
and  his  own  servant.  Veronica  led  them  to  her  favourite  room, 
then  showed  them  their  own,  and  went  back  to  wait  for  them, 
while  Elettra  brought  the  tea,  just  as  she  had  done  of  old  in  the 
Palazzo  Macomer.  Veronica  watched  her  while  she  was  arrang 
ing  the  tea-table.  Elettra,  who  rarely  spoke  unbidden,  ventured 
to  make  a  remark. 

"  Their  Excellencies  will  be  surprised  at  being  waited  on  by 
women,"  she  said ;  for  though  she  hated  all  men-servants,  she 
had  pride  for  the  great  old  house  her  fathers  had  served. 

"  They  will  be  surprised  at  so  many  things  that  they  will  not 
notice  it,"  answered  her  mistress,  thoughtfully. 

Elettra  glanced  at  her  quickly,  but  said  nothing  and  went 
away,  leaving  her  alone.  She  sat  quite  still,  and  did  not  move 
until  the  old  couple  came  back,  ten  minutes  later.  She  moved 
chairs  forward  for  them  to  sit  in,  and  poured  out  a  cup  of  tea 
for  each.  Meanwhile  they  all  three  made  little  idle  observations 
about  the  weather  and  the  place. 

The  Duchessa,  holding  her  cup  in  her  hand,  looked  at  the 
door  from  time  to  time,  as  though  expecting  some  one  to  come 
in.  At  last  she  could  contain  her  curiosity  no  longer. 

"And  where  is  your  companion,  my  dear?  "she  asked,  suddenly. 

"  In  the  imagination  of  society,  Duchessa,"  answered  Vero 
nica.  "  I  have  none.  I  live  alone." 

The  Duchessa  almost  dropped  her  cup. 

"  Alone  ?  "  she  cried,  in  amazement.  "  You  live  alone  ?  In 
such  a  place  as  this  ! "  She  could  not  believe  her  ears. 

"Yes,"  said  Veronica,  smiling.  "Does  it  seem  so  very 
terrible  to  you  ?  I  live  alone — and  I  am  waited  on  only  by 
women.  I  daresay  that  surprises  you,  too." 

"Alone?"  The  Duca  had  got  his  breath,  and  sat  open- 
mouthed,  holding  his  tea-cup  low  between  his  knees,  in  both 
hands.  "  Alone  !  At  your  age !  A  young  girl !  But  the 
world — society  ?  What  will  it  think  ?  " 

"  Unless  it  thinks  as  I  do,  I  do  not  care  to  know,"  answered 
Veronica,  indifferently.  "Let  me  give  you  some  bread  and 
butter,  Duca." 

"Bread  and  butter?  No — no  thank  you — no — I — I  am  very 
much  astonished !  I  am  stupefied !  It  is  the  most  extraordinary 
thing  I  ever  heard  of !  " 

"  Of  course  everybody  thinks  that  you  have  an  elderly  com 
panion — "  chimed  in  the  Duchessa. 


252  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  One  of  your  Spanish  relations,"  said  the  Duca,  with  anxious 
eyes.  "  Surely,  she  was  here — 

"And  is  away  just  now,"  suggested  his  wife.  "That  accounts 
for— 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Veronica,  almost  laughing.  "  She  never 
existed.  I  came  here  alone,  I  live  here  alone,  and  I  mean  to 
live  here  alone  as  long  as  I  please.  The  world  may  say  what 
it  pleases.  I  shall  be  three-and-twenty  years  of  age  on  my  next 
birthday.  Ask  Don  Teodoro  whether  I  am  not  able  to  take 
care  of  myself — and  of  Muro,  too,  for  that  matter  ! " 

"  Who  is  Don  Teodoro  ?  "  asked  the  Duchessa,  nervously, 
and  still  altogether  horrified. 

"The  parish  priest,"  said  Veronica.  "A  very  learned  and 
charitable  old  man.  He  dines  with  me  every  evening." 

"Then,"  replied  the  Duchessa,  with  a  beginning  of  relief, 
"then  you,  and  your  good  priest,  and  your  woman,  make  a 
sort  of — of  what  shall  I  say — a  sort  of  little  religious  com 
munity  here?  Is  that  it?"' 

"  We  are  not  irreligious,"  Veronica  replied,  still  at  the  point 
of  laughter.  "  Most  of  us  hear  mass  every  morning — the  church 
is  close  by  the  gate,  on  the  other  side  of  the  great  tower,  you 
know — and  we  do  not  eat  meat  on  fast  days — 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understand!"  interrupted  the  Duchessa,  grasping 
at  any  straw  by  which  she  could  drag  the  extraordinary  young 
princess  within  conceivable  distance  of  what  she  herself  con 
sidered  socially  proper.  "And  you  spend  your  time  in  good 
works,  in  the  village,  of  course,  and  in  edifying  conversation 
with  Don  Teodoro.  Yes — I  see !  As  you  put  it  at  first,  it 
was  a  little  startling,  but  I  understand  it  better  now.  You 
understand  it,  Pompeo,  do  you  not  ?  It  is  quite  clear,  now." 

The  Duca  rejoiced  in  the  baptismal  name  of  Pompey,  like 
many  of  his  class  in  the  south,  whereas  the  name  of  Caesar  is 
more  common  about  Rome. 

"  I  have  at  least  done  something  for  the  village,"  said 
Veronica.  "  It  was  in  a  bad  state  when  I  came  here." 

"  It  is  a  very  clean  village,"  observed  the  Duca,  whose  eyes 
still  had  a  puzzled  look  in  them,  though  his  jaw  had  slowly 
recovered  from  its  fall  of  amazement.  "  I  saw  no  pigs  in  the 
streets.  One  generally  sees  a  great  many  pigs  in  these  moun 
tain  towns." 

"  I  turned  them  out,"  said  Veronica. 

She  went  on  to  give  a  little  account  of  the  improvements  she 


xxi  TAQUISARA  253 

had  introduced,  not  in  vanity,  but  to  keep  them  from  returning 
to  the  subject  of  her  living  alone.  They  listened  with  profound 
interest,  and  with  almost  as  much  astonishment  as  they  had 
shown  at  first. 

"But  do  you  find  no  opposition  here?"  asked  the  Duca. 
"  You  seem  to  do  just  as  you  please." 

"Of  course,"  answered  Veronica.  "The  place  belongs  to 
me.  Why  should  I  not  do  as  I  like  ?  There  are  a  few  tolerably 
well-to-do  people  here,  who  own  a  little  property.  Everything 
I  do  is  to  their  advantage  as  well  as  to  that  of  the  poor 
peasants,  so  that  they  all  side  with  me.  No,"  she  concluded 
thoughtfully,  "  I  do  not  think  that  any  one  would  oppose  me  in 
Muro.  But  if  any  one  should,  I  have  decided  what  to  do  ! " 

"And  what  should  you  do?"  asked  the  Duchessa,  rather 
nervously. 

"  I  should  send  the  whole  family  to  America,  with  a  little 
money  in  their  pockets.  They  are  always  glad  to  emigrate,  and 
the  opposition  would  be  quite  out  of  the  way  in  the  Argentine 
Republic."  Veronica  laughed  quietly. 

When  the  Duca  and  his  wife  went  to  dress  for  dinner  they 
had  some  very  disturbing  ideas  concerning  the  character  of  the 
young  Princess  of  Acireale. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

TAQUISARA,  almost  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  did  not  know 
how  to  act,  but  in  accepting  Veronica's  invitation  he  felt  that 
he  could  really  be  of  use  to  Gianluca,  and  he  saw  how  unbend 
ingly  determined  the  young  princess  was  that  he  should  stay. 
He  had  very  good  reasons  for  not  staying,  but  they  were  of 
such  a  nature  that  he  could  not  explain  them  to  her.  He  had 
the  power,  he  thought,  to  leave  Muro  at  a  moment's  notice, 
and  in  yielding  to  Veronica's  insistence,  he  was  only  submitting, 
as  a  gentleman  should,  in  small  matters,  rather  than  engage  in 
a  contest  of  will  with  a  woman.  Yet  he  knew  the  matter  was 
neither  small  nor  indifferent,  when  he  gave  way  to  her,  and 
afterwards. 

Gianluca   appeared   at   the   dinner   hour   and   reached   the 
dining-room  with  his  friend's  help.    He  was  placed  on  Veronica's 


254  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

left,  in  consideration  of  being  an  invalid,  though  Taquisara 
should  have  been  there,  according  to  Italian  laws  of  precedence. 
Veronica  had  insisted  that  Don  Teodoro  should  come,  at  all 
events  on  this  first  evening.  She  did  not  choose  that  the 
learned  old  priest  should  be  merely  the  companion  of  her 
loneliness  ;  and  besides,  she  knew  that  his  presence  would  prob 
ably  prevent  the  Duca  and  Duchessa  from  returning  to  the 
question  of  her  solitary  mode  of  life.  She  was  also  willing  to 
let  them  see  that  the  humble  curate  was  a  man  of  the  world. 

It  was  a  day  of  surprises  for  the  old  couple,  and  their 
manners  were  hard  put  to  it  to  conceal  their  astonishment  at 
the  way  in  which  Veronica  dined.  They  were,  indeed,  accus 
tomed  to  a  singular  simplicity  in  the  country,  and  to  country 
dishes,  as  almost  all  the  more  old-fashioned  Italians  are,  but  in 
the  whole  course  of  their  highly  and  rigidly  aristocratic  lives 
they  had  never  been  waited  on  by  two  women  in  plain  black 
frocks  and  white  aprons.  The  Duca,  indeed,  found  some  con 
solation  in  the  delicious  mountain  trout,  the  tender  lamb,  the 
perfect  salad,  and  the  fine  old  malvoisie,  for  he  liked  good 
things  and  appreciated  them ;  but  the  Duchessa's  nature  was 
more  austerely  indifferent  to  the  taste  of  what  she  ate,  while  her 
love  of  established  law  insisted  with  equal  austerity  that  any 
food,  good  or  bad,  should  be  brought  before  her  in  a  certain 
way,  by  a  certain  number  of  men,  arrayed  in  coats  of  a  certain 
cut,  and  shaven  till  their  faces  shone  like  marble.  In  a  measure, 
it  was  a  slight  upon  her  dignity,  she  thought,  that  Veronica 
should  let  her  be  served  by  waitresses.  On  the  other  hand,  she 
reflected  upon  the  conversation  which  had  taken  place  at  tea, 
and  was  forced  to  admit  that  she  had  then  discovered  the  only 
theory  on  which  she  could  accept  Veronica's  anomalous  position, 
and  conscientiously  remain  in  the  house.  Either  she  must  look 
upon  the  castle  of  Muro  and  its  inhabitants  as  a  sort  of  semi- 
religious  community  of  women,  or  else,  in  her  duty  to  the  world, 
and  the  station  to  which  she  had  always  belonged,  she  must 
raise  her  voice  in  protests,  loud  and  many.  For  many  reasons, 
she  did  not  wish  to  insist  too  much,  and  she  did  her  best  to 
seem  indifferent,  keeping  her  arguments  before  her  mind  while 
she  ate.  The  chief  of  them  was,  indeed,  that  she  clung  desper 
ately  to  the  hope  of  a  marriage;  but  in  her  heart  there  was 
something  else,  and  she  knew  that  she  was  afraid  of  Veronica. 
It  seemed  ridiculous,  but  it  was  true.  And  her  husband  was 
even  more  afraid  of  the  dominating  young  princess  than  she. 


xxn  TAQUISARA  255 

They  never  acknowledged  the  fact  to  each  other,  when  they 
exchanged  moralities,  and  discussed  Veronica,  but  each  was 
afraid,  and  suspected  the  other  of  similar  cowardice. 

The  Duchessa  did  her  best  to  seem  indifferent ;  but  now  and 
then,  when  one  of  the  women  changed  her  plate,  or  poured 
something  into  her  glass,  she  could  not  help  slowly  looking 
round,  with  an  air  of  bewilderment,  as  though  expecting  to  see 
a  man  in  livery  at  her  elbow. 

As  for  Gianluca,  Veronica  had  described  in  her  letters  the 
way  in  which  she  lived  j  -and  Taquisara's  face  more  often  be 
trayed  amusement  than  surprise  at  what  he  saw  in  the  world. 
On  the  present  occasion,  having  accepted  the  situation  into 
which  his  affection  for  his  friend  had  led  him,  he  had  accepted 
it  altogether,  and  behaved  as  though  he  were  at  a  dinner  party 
in  Naples,  cheerfully  making  conversation,  telling  amazing 
stories  of  brigandage  in  Sicily,  asking  Veronica  questions  about 
the  surrounding  country,  and  giving  such  scraps  of  news  about 
mutual  friends  as  his  letters  had  recently  brought  him. 

Veronica  had  never  seen  the  man  under  such  circumstances, 
and  she  was  surprised  by  his  readiness  and  by  his  ability  to 
help  her  in  a  rather  difficult  situation.  He  said  nothing  which 
she  could  compare  with  what  Gianluca  wrote.  He  never  spoke 
of  himself,  and  she  did  not  afterwards  remember  that  he  had 
made  any  very  brilliant  observation ;  and  yet,  when  dinner  was 
over,  she  wished  to  hear  him  talk  more,  just  as  she  had  once 
longed  to  hear  him  say  again  the  things  he  had  said  to  her  for 
Gianluca's  sake  in  Bianca's  garden.  She  had  never  met  any 
one  who  seemed  to  have  such  a  decided  personality,  without  the 
slightest  apparent  desire  to  assert  it.  Instinctively,  as  women 
know  such  things,  she  felt  that  he  was  a  very  manly  man,  very 
simple  and  brave,  and  vain,  if  at  all,  with  the  sort  of  vanity 
which  well  becomes  a  soldierly  character — the  little  touch  of 
willing  recklessness  that  easily  stirs  woman's  admiration.  What 
women  hate  most,  next  to  cowardice,  is,  perhaps,  the  caution  of 
the  very  experienced  brave  man — and  they  hate  it  all  the  more 
because  they  cannot  despise  it  with  any  show  of  reason. 

Gianluca  was  silently  happy,  perfectly  satisfied  to  hear 
Veronica's  voice,  to  watch  the  face  he  loved,  and  to  feel  that 
between  her  and  him  there  was  something  which  no  one  knew. 
When  they  spoke,  there  was  a  little  constraint  on  both  sides ; 
but  when  they  were  silent,  the  bond  was  instantly  renewed.  In 
silence  and  in  imagination,  they  were  writing  to  each  other  the 


256  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

impressions  of  which  they  would  not  speak.  Gianluca  was 
telling  her  how  grateful  he  was  to  her  for  insisting  that  Taquisara 
should  stay,  after  all,  and  was  pointing  out  to  her  that  his  friend 
was  bravely  bearing  the  burden  of  a  conversation  which  kept 
his  father  and  mother  from  prosing  about  the  necessity  of  a 
companion  for  Veronica.  Veronica  was  replying  that  Taquisara 
was  more  agreeable  than  she  had  expected,  but  that  if  he  had 
been  as  silent  as  the  Sphinx,  or  as  noisy  as  Alexander  the 
Coppersmith,  she  would  have  pressed  him  to  stay  because  he 
was  her  friend's  friend.  There  was  a  good  deal  about  Taquisara 
in  their  imaginary  correspondence. 

But  both  felt  a  little  more  constraint,  when  they  talked,  than 
they  had  ever  felt  before,  for  both  knew  that  on  the  morrow,  or 
on  the  next  day,  at  the  latest,  they  were  sure  to  be  alone  to 
gether, — quite  alone, — for  the  first  time;  and  they  wondered 
whether  the  curious  duality  of  their  acquaintance  and  intimacy 
by  word  and  by  letter  could  be  maintained  hereafter,  or  whether 
it  would  suddenly  resolve  itself  into  a  unity  in  the  shape  of  a 
friendship  in  which  they  should  speak  to  each  other  as  they 
wrote. 

They  knew  that  something  of  the  sort  must  happen.  The 
Duca  and  his  wife  would  certainly  not  stand  sentry  from  morn 
ing  till  night  over  the  young  people,  when  they  themselves  so 
ardently  desired  the  marriage ;  and  Taquisara  was  not  the  man 
to  be  in  the  way  when  he  was  not  wanted.  It  would  be  in 
Veronica's  power  to  put  off  the  meeting,  if  she  chose  to  do  so ; 
but  she  knew,  and  Gianluca  guessed,  that  she  would  not. 
Whatever  society  might  say  about  it,  she  had  assumed  the 
position  and  the  independence  of  a  married  woman,  and  had 
gone  further  than  married  women  of  her  age  would  generally 
have  the  courage  to  go.  To  hesitate  now,  and  to  draw  back 
from  the  possibility  of  being  left  alone  with  any  one  of  her 
guests,  would  be  absurd.  She  would  not  seek  the  interview, 
nor  she  would  not  do  anything  to  avoid  it.  But  she  did  not 
wish  to  be  forced  into  the  necessity  of  talking  alone  with 
Taquisara,  if  it  could  be  helped.  She  was  sure,  though  she 
had  forgiven  him,  and  liked  him  better  than  before,  that  she 
should  certainly  quarrel  with  him,  though  she  did  not  know 
why  there  should  be  any  further  disagreement  between  them. 

Possibly  she  recognized  in  him  a  will  less  despotic  than  her 
own,  but  quite  as  unbending  when  he  chose  to  exercise  it.  The 
certainty  of  strong  opposition,  which  is  fear  in  cowards,  becomes 


xxii  TAQUISARA  257 

combativeness  in  brave  people,  and  the  fighting  instinct  takes 
the  place  of  the  inclination  to  run  away.  But  Veronica  had  no 
further  reason  for  quarrelling  with  Taquisara ;  and  because  she 
liked  him,  she  determined  to  avoid  him  as  much  as  possible, 
lest  at  the  very  first  point  of  difference  in  conversation  there 
should  be  war  between  them  about  some  insignificant  matter 
perfectly  indifferent  to  both. 

Her  guests  went  to  bed  early.  While  Gianluca  was  before 
her,  Veronica  had  not  retained  the  impression  she  had  received 
from  Taquisara,  that  her  friend  was  a  doomed  man.  Her  own 
vitality  lent  the  sure  certainty  of  life,  in  her  imagination,  to 
those  about  her.  He  was  faint  and  tired  from  the  journey, 
of  course,  but  he  was  by  no  means  the  utterly  helpless  invalid 
she  had  expected  to  see,  and  she  had  not  believed,  so  long  as 
she  could  watch  him,  that  he  was  in  mortal  danger.  But  when 
she  was  in  her  own  room,  his  face  came  back  to  her,  a  pale 
shade  out  of  dark  shadow,  and  she  saw  the  hollows  about  his 
deep  blue  eyes,  his  thin,  bluish  temples,  his  transparent  features, 
and  his  emaciated  throat,  that  seemed  to  have  fallen  away  under 
his  white  ears.  She  was  so  suddenly  and  violently  disturbed  by 
the  recollection  that  she  spoke  to  Elettra  of  him.  The  woman 
had  seen  him  go  by  when  the  party  had  arrived. 

"  Do  you  think  that  Don  Gianluca  looks  very  ill  ?  "  Veronica 
asked. 

"Excellency — "  the  maid  hesitated.  "I  wish  that  all  may 
live — but  he  seems  a  dead  man." 

Veronica  said  nothing,  but  it  was  long  before  she  got  to  sleep 
that  night,  and  the  vision  of  his  face  came  again  and  again 
to  her,  pale,  haggard,  haunting,  distressing  her  exceedingly. 
She  rose  even  earlier  than  usual. 

She  did  not  mean  that  the  presence  of  her  guests  should 
interfere  with  what  had  now  become  a  connected  work,  to 
interrupt  which  would  be  an  injury  to  the  whole  and  an  in 
justice  to  the  people  who  had  learned  to  expect  it  of  her, 
looking  for  more,  as  she  gave  them  more,  and  turning  to  her  in 
every  difficulty.  But  for  the  arrival  of  the  party  on  the  previous 
afternoon  she  would  have  gone  down  to  an  outlying  farm  in  the 
valley,  where  the  farmhouse  needed  repairs  and  there  was  a 
question  of  cutting  down  a  number  of  olive  trees  so  old  that 
they  hardly  bore  any  fruit.  She  had  ordered  her  mare  at  half- 
past  seven  in  the  morning,  and  she  rode  down  the  long,  winding 
road,  saw,  judged,  and  gave  orders,  galloped  most  of  the  way 

R 


258  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

up,  and  exchanged  her  riding-habit  for  her  morning  frock  before 
the  clock  struck  ten. 

One  after  another,  her  guests  appeared,  and  everything 
happened  as  she  had  foreseen.  The  old  couple  said  that  they 
were  accustomed  to  take  a  little  walk  before  the  midday  meal, 
for  the  sake  of  their  appetite ;  Taquisara  disappeared  when  he 
had  helped  Gianluca  to  a  big  chair  in  a  balcony,  in  the  shade, 
outside  the  drawing-room,  and  Gianluca  was  left  alone  with  her, 
as  she  had  expected.  She  established  herself  opposite  to  him, 
for  the  balcony  was  so  narrow  that  two  chairs  could  not  be 
placed  upon  it  side  by  side. 

It  was  a  magnificent  summer's  day,  one  of  those  days  in 
which  the  whole  glory  of  the  south  fills  heaven  and  earth  and 
air,  and  the  stupendous  tide  of  universal  life  pours  into  every 
sense,  to  very  overflowing,  as  the  ocean  fills  its  world-wide  bed. 
And  the  world  was  ripe  and  ripening,  the  corn  and  wheat,  and 
olive  and  vine,  and  fruit  and  flower  and  tree,  from  the  rich 
valley  below,  up  the  rough  hills,  as  far  as  sun  and  soil  and  rain 
could  draw  the  dress  of  beauty  over  the  mountains'  grand  bare 
strength.  Down  there,  in  the  vast  garden,  the  hot  air  quivered 
with  sheer  living;  above,  the  solemn  peaks  faced  God  in  the 
still  sun.  The  breath  of  the  high  breeze,  between  earth  and 
heaven,  blew  upon  Veronica's  cheek. 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  sat  silent,  and  looked  again 
and  smiled,  both  happy  in  those  ever-written,  never-spoken 
thoughts  which  were  theirs  together,  both  fearing  speech  as  a 
common  thing  which  must  jar  and  shake  them  rudely  back  to 
their  other  selves,  which  were  formal,  and  constrained,  and  not 
at  all  intimate. 

Gianluca  lay  quite  still  in  his  deep  chair,  his  white  hands 
motionless  upon  the  edge  of  the  grey  shawl  which  was  thrown 
over  his  knees.  Suddenly,  Veronica,  sitting  close  and  opposite 
to  him,  bent  far  forward  and  gently  laid  her  hand  upon  one  of 
his.  She  smiled. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  here,"  she  said,  simply,  looking  into 
his  face. 

His  own  brightened,  and  the  blue  eyes  grew  dark  and  tender, 
while  her  hand  lingered  a  second. 

"  How  good  you  are  to  me ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  How  endlessly  good  ! " 

She  was  still  smiling  as  she  withdrew  her  hand  and  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  once  more.  A  little  pause  followed,  during 


xxn  TAQUISARA  259 

which  both  were  quite  happy,  in  different  ways — he,  perhaps,  in 
all  ways  at  once,  and  she,  because  she  felt  she  had  broken 
through  something  like  a  sheet  of  ice  by  a  mere  gesture  and 
half  a  dozen  words,  when  it  had  seemed  so  hard  to  do. 

"  No,"  she  said,  thoughtfully,  at  last.  "  It  is  not  a  question 
of  goodness.  I  am  natural — that  is  all.  I  do  not  believe  that 
many  people  are.  And  we  had  got  into  an  absurd  position,  you 
and  I ! "  She  laughed,  looking  at  him.  "  We  could  write,  but 
we  could  not  speak.  We  each  knew  what  the  other  was  think 
ing  of,  and  yet,  somehow,  neither  of  us  could  say  what  we 
thought.  Was  it  not  as  I  say  ?  " 

"Yes."  Gianluca  laughed,  too,  very  faintly  because  he  was 
weak,  though  he  was  so  happy. 

"  It  could  not  last,"  Veronica  continued,  "  and  I  am  glad  it  is 
over.  For  it  is  over,  is  it  not  ?  We  can  talk  quite  frankly  now. 
Last  night,  for  instance.  I  am  sure  I  know  what  you  were 
thinking  about." 

"  About  Taquisara  ?     At  dinner  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  He  is  so  much  more  agreeable  than  I  expected, 
and  I  am  so  glad  that  I  made  him  stay.  And  then,  last  night, 
too — did  you  see  how  your  mother  looked  at  the  serving-woman, 
expecting  to  see  the  butler?  It  was  so  natural.  It  was  just 
what  I  should  have  done  in  her  place,  and  I  could  hardly  keep 
from  laughing." 

"  My  dear  old  mother  is  not  used  to  such  surprises,"  answered 
Gianluca.  "  Of  course  I  saw  it,  and  knew  that  you  did." 

"  Yes — but  do  you  not  think  that  I  am  quite  right  ?  "  asked 
Veronica,  her  tone  changing  suddenly  as  she  seemed  to  appeal 
to  him  for  support — she,  who  needed  so  little  from  anybody. 

"  Of  course  you  are,"  he  answered,  promptly. 

He  felt  unaccountably  flattered  and  pleased  by  the  mere  fact 
of  her  asking  him  the  question.  He  felt  instinctively  that  she 
had  never  asked  any  one's  opinion  about  her  conduct,  and  that 
she  really  desired  his  approval.  She,  on  her  part,  was  perhaps 
glad  to  speak  freely  at  last  about  the  position  she  had  assumed. 
If  he  had  called  her  rash  just  then,  she  would  not  have  answered 
him  as  she  had  answered  Don  Teodoro  when  he  had  used  the 
same  word. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  "  I  am  not  like  other  women.  I  was 
brought  up  in  a  convent,  like  most  of  them,  but  the  rest  of  my 
life  has  been  quite  different.  Well — you  know,  if  any  one  does. 
I  used  to  write  you  all  about  what  I  meant  to  do  while  I  was 


26o  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

still  living  with  Bianca,  and  you  know  that  I  have  begun  to 
carry  out  most  of  my  ideas.  Yesterday  afternoon,  while  you 
were  resting,  your  father  and  mother  and  I  had  tea  together, 
and  she  found  out  for  the  first  time  that  I  had  no  companion. 
You  should  have  seen  her  face !  And  then,  when  I  tried  to 
explain,  she  got  the  impression  at  once  that  I  meant  to  live 
here  in  a  sort  of  amateur  convent,  surrounded  by  women.  I 
think  she  rather  liked  the  idea.  It  seemed  to  settle  her  dis 
turbed  prejudices  a  little.  Of  course — it  must  seem  stranger  to 
people  who  all  live  in  the  same  way  as  she  does.  Oh !  how 
glad  I  am  that  we  can  talk  about  it,  you  and  I ! " 

Again  she  laughed  happily.  To  Gianluca,  as  his  eyes  met 
hers,  it  seemed  as  though  a  great  wave  of  the  huge,  exuberant 
life  that  filled  the  full-blossoming  world  that  day  had  rolled  up 
out  of  the  broad  valley  to  his  feet  and  were  lifting  him  and 
penetrating  him  and  sweeping  its  hot  tide  through  the  ebb  of 
his  failing  blood. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  her.  "  To  be  able  to  talk  at  last — at 
last,  after  so  much  waiting,  that  was  only  half  talking." 

He  sighed  gently,  and  his  hand  stroked  the  grey  shawl  on  his 
knees,  smoothing  it  first  in  one  way  and  then  backwards  in  the 
other.  She  watched  him,  and  thought  that  she  had  never  seen 
a  hand  so  thin. 

"  We  shall  never  go  back  to  the  old  way,  shall  we  ?  "  he  asked, 
before  she  spoke  again. 

"  I  hope  not ! "  she  answered.  "  It  was  so  absurd,  sometimes. 
Do  you  remember  at  Bianca's  house — " 

"  The  night  before  you  left  ?     When  I  forgot  my  stick  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  before  that.  You  seemed  to  think  that  there  was 
to  be  no  more  writing  because  I  was  coming  here." 

"Of  course — that  is,  I  supposed  that  it  might  make  a 
difference — " 

"And  then  you  asked  me.  You  should  have  seen  your 
face  !  I  can  remember  it  now.  It  changed  all  at  once." 

"  It  is  no  wonder.  You  changed  the  whole  future  with  one 
word.  You  seemed  really  to  want  my  letters  much  more  than 
I  had  imagined  that  you  did." 

As  by  the  quick  lifting  of  a  dividing  veil,  all  the  awkward 
little  incidents  and  memories  of  constraint  had  suddenly  become 
parts  of  the  much  larger  and  more  pleasant  recollection  of  their 
semi-secret  intimacy,  and  in  blending  with  the  broader  picture 
the  little  ones  somehow  ceased  to  have  anything  disagreeable 


xxn  TAQUISARA  261 

in  them,  and  instead,  there  was  a  touch  of  humour  and  a  sug 
gestion  of  laughter  each  time  that  they  compared  what  they  had 
said  and  done  with  what  they  had  written  and  felt.  It  was  no 
wonder  that  the  fascination  grew  on  Gianluca  with  every  dancing 
beat  of  the  happy  man's  pulse. 

They  talked  on,  and  in  the  way  she  talked  Veronica  showed 
that  while  her  character  had  grown  in  three-quarters  of  a  year 
from  girlhood  to  womanhood,  and  from  womanhood  to  the  half- 
imperial  masculinity  of  a  dictatress,  her  heart  was  younger  than 
the  youngest,  was  as  unsuspicious  of  itself  as  a  child's,  ready  to 
give  itself  in  an  innocent  generosity  which  could  not  conceive 
that  giving  might  mean  being  taken,  or  be  as  like  it  as  to  deceive 
such  a  willing,  love-sick  man  as  poor  Gianluca.  She  did  not 
say  that  she  loved  him,  she  did  not  love  him,  she  did  not  wish 
him  to  think  that  she  could  love  him.  Why  should  he  think 
that  she  did  ?  Surely,  that  he  loved  her,  or  thought  so,  could 
make  no  difference. 

She  was  so  very  young,  under  her  armour  of  despotism,  that 
she  might  almost  have  loved  him,  as  she  had  all  but  loved 
Bosio,  had  there  been  anything  to  love.  But  there  was  not. 
Gianluca  was  a  shadow,  an  unmaterial  being,  a  thought — any 
thing  ethereal,  but  not  a  man. 

The  dream-driven  ghost  of  her  dead  betrothed  was  ten  times 
more  human  and  real  than  Gianluca  was  to  her  now,  with  his 
white  angel's  face  and  misty  hands  that  seemed  to  hang  weight 
less  in  the  air  before  him  when  he  moved  them.  There  was 
more  of  living  humanity  in  the  fast  fainting  echo  of  Bosio's  last 
words  to  her  than  in  Gianluca's  clear,  sweet  tones.  If  he  should 
tell  her  that  he  loved  her  now,  she  should  perhaps  not  even 
blush  j  for  his  whole  being  was  sifted  and  refined  and  distilled, 
as  the  very  spirit  of  star  dust,  in  which  there  was  nothing  left  of 
that  sweet,  earthly  living,  breathing,  dying,  loving  flesh  and 
blood  without  which  love  itself  is  but  a  scholar's  word,  and 
passion  means  but  a  vague,  spiritual  suffering,  in  which  there  is 
neither  hope  of  joy  to  come  nor  memory  of  any  past. 

Yet  Gianluca  breathed,  and  was  a  human  man,  and  loved 
her,  and  he  would  have  been  strangely  surprised  had  he  suddenly 
seen  into  her  heart  and  understood  that  she  looked  upon  him 
as  though  he  were  a  being  out  of  another  world.  The  moment 
when  she  had  first  laid  her  hand  upon  his  had  been  the 
supremest  of  his  life  yet  lived,  and  all  the  moments  since  had 
been  as  supremely  happy.  It  was  something  which  he  had  not 


262  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

dared  to  hope — to  hear  her  speaking  as  though  there  had  never 
been  that  veil  between  them,  against  which  he  had  so  often 
struggled,  to  feel  her  warm  touch,  to  see  the  happy  light  in  her 
young  eyes  as  she  sat  there  looking  at  him,  to  be  sure  at  last, 
beyond  the  half  assurance  of  uncertain  written  words. 

But  he  was  wise,  and  he  bridled  back  the  words  that  most 
readily  of  all  others  would  have  come  to  his  lips.  Perhaps  even 
in  the  midst  of  his  new  happiness,  there  was  the  unacknowledged 
fear  of  evil  chance  if  he  should  speak  too  soon  and  put  the 
beautiful  gold  to  the  touch  while  the  magic  transmutation  was 
still  so  dazzlingly  fresh.  The  present  was  so  immeasurably 
better  than  the  past,  so  near  a  perfection  of  its  own,  that  he 
could  wait  in  it  a  while  before  he  opened  wide  his  arms  to  take 
in  the  very  whole  of  happiness  itself,  wherewith  the  beautiful 
future  stood  full  laden  before  him. 

As  they  talked,  they  went  over  and  over  much  that  they  had 
written  to  each  other  during  the  long  months  of  their  corre 
spondence,  and  at  last  Veronica  came  back  to  the  question  she 
had  at  first  asked  him. 

"So  you  think  that  I  am  sensible  in  living  as  I  do,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  glad.  I  value  your  opinion,  you  know." 

She  had  perhaps  never  said  as  much  as  that  to  any  one 

"  You  have  made  it  what  it  is,"  he  answered. 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked,  quickly. 

"You  cannot  do  wrong,"  he  replied,  with  his  faint,  far-off 
laugh.  "  If  I  had  read  in  a  book,  of  an  imaginary  person,  all 
that  you  have  written  me  of  yourself,  I  should  have  said  that  most 
of  it  was  absolutely  impossible,  or  wildly  rash,  or  foolishly 
unwise.  You  know  how  we  are  all  brought  up.  We  are  nursed 
in  the  arms  of  tradition,  we  are  fed  on  ideas  of  custom — we  are 
taken  to  walk,  as  children,  by  incarnate  prejudice  for  a  nursery 
maid,  and  taught  to  see  things  that  used  to  be,  where  modern 
things  are.  What  can  you  expect  ?  We  have  not  much  origin 
ality  by  the  time  we  grow  up." 

"  Yes — you  know  that  I  was  educated  in  a  convent." 

"  That  is  better  than  being  educated  at  home  by  a  priest." 
Gianluca  smiled  again.  "  Besides,  you  are  different.  That  is 
why  I  say  that  if  I  have  an  opinion,  you  have  made  it  for  me. 
You  are  doing  all  those  things  which  I  could  not  have  believed 
in  a  book,  and  they  are  turning  out  well.  If  society  could  see 
you  here,  it  would  not  find  it  necessary  to  invent  a  duenna  to 
chaperon  you.  But  it  is  not  everybody  who  could  do  what  you 


xxii  TAQUISARA  263 

have  done,  and  succeed.  I  do  not  wonder  that  my  mother  is 
astonished,  and  my  father,  too.  But  at  the  same  time,  since 
you  can  do  such  things,  it  seems  to  me  that  you  would  have 
made  a  great  mistake  in  doing  anything  else — as  great  a  mistake 
as  Julius  Caesar  would  have  made  if  he  had  chosen  to  remain  a 
fashionable  lawyer  instead  of  mixing  in  politics,  or  Achilles,  if  he 
had  taken  a  necklace  or  a  bracelet  and  left  the  sword  in  Ulysses' 
basket.  You  would  have  found  your  mythical  duenna  a  nui 
sance  in  real  life." 

Veronica  laughed. 

"  At  the  end  of  the  first  week  I  should  have  locked  her  up 
in  the  dungeon  tower,  to  get  rid  of  her,"  she  said. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  would,  and  your  people  would 
have  thought  it  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  You 
could  do  anything  you  pleased  in  this  place,  I  fancy.  They 
would  not  think  it  strange  if  you  tried  and  condemned  a 
cheating  steward  and  had  him  executed  in  that  gloomy  court 
yard  we  passed  through  when  we  came  in  yesterday." 

"  The  law  might  find  fault  with  my  vivacity,"  said  Veronica. 
"But  my  people  would  say  that  I  had  done  right  if  the  man 
had  really  cheated  them.  It  is  quite  true,  I  think.  I  could 
do  almost  anything  here.  I  had  a  man  locked  up  in  the 
municipal  prison  the  other  day  for  forty-eight  hours,  because 
he  was  tipsy  and  swore  at  Don  Teodoro  in  the  street.  Of 
course,  it  is  nominally  the  syndic  who  does  that  sort  of  thing ; 
but  he  belongs  to  me,  like  everything  else  here,  and  I  do  as  I 
please,  just  as  my  grandfather  did,  when  he  really  had  power 
of  life  and  death  in  Muro,  including  the  privilege  of  torture. 
The  first  article  mentioned  in  the  old  inventory  was  forty  palms 
of  stout  rope  for  giving  the  cord,  as  they  called  it.  They  did 
it  under  the  main  gate, — that  is  why  it  came  first, — and  they 
used  to  pull  them  up  to  the  vault  and  then  drop  them  with  a 
jerk  to  within  two  feet  of  the  ground.  The  ring  is  still  there, 
just  inside  the  gate." 

"  My  mother's  uncle — the  old  Marchese  di  Rionero — once 
hanged  a  ruffian  for  mutilating  one  of  his  horses  out  of  spite. 
And  they  say  that  Italy  has  not  progressed  !  There  is  no 
hanging,  not  even  for  murder,  nowadays." 

"Yes,"  answered  Veronica,  thoughtfully.  "We  have  pro 
gressed,  in  a  way.  That  is  our  trouble — we  have  progressed 
too  fast  and  improved  too  little,  I  think." 

"  That  sounds  paradoxical." 


264  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Oh  no !  It  is  common  sense,  as  I  mean  it.  Progress 
costs  money,  improvement  brings  it.  Progress  means  wearing 
clothes  like  other  people,  having  splendid  cities  like  other 
nations,  Keeping  up  armies  and  navies  like  other  great  powers. 
Improvement  means  helping  poor  people  to  earn  more  wages 
and  to  live  better — giving  them  a  possibility  of  happiness, 
instead  of  taking  the  little  they  have  in  order  to  give  ourselves 
the  appearance  of  greatness.  That  is  why  I  say  that  in  Italy 
we  have  too  much  progress  and  too  little  improvement." 

"  Yes — how  well  you  put  it ! "  Gianluca  looked  at  her  with 
quick  admiration. 

"  Do  I  ?  It  is  because  you  understand  easily.  Should  you 
call  me  patriotic  ?  I  think  I  am.  I  am  an  Italian  before  any 
thing  else,  before  being  a  Serra,  a  woman,  a  member  of  society 
— anything.  I  feel  as  though  I  should  like  to  give  my  heart 
for  my  people  and  my  life  for  our  country,  if  it  would  do  any 
good.  Of  course,  if  it  really  came  to  making  any  great  sacrifice, 
I  suppose  my  courage  would  shrivel  up  and  I  should  behave 
just  like  any  one  else." 

"No — you  would  not,"  said  Gianluca,  gravely.  "There 
have  been  women — the  great  Countess,  and  Saint  Catherine  of 
Siena—" 

"Yes!"  Veronica  laughed.  "And  there  were  also  my 
good  ancestors,  who  tore  Italy  to  pieces,  joined  hands  with 
German  Emperors,  upset  Popes,  seized  everything  they  could 
lay  hands  upon,  and  turned  the  country  into  a  sort  of  perpetual 
gladiator's  show.  That  is  a  proud  and  promising  inheritance 
for  an  aspiring  patriot,  is  it  not  ?  The  less  you  and  I  talk  of 
patriotism,  the  better — seeing  what  our  people  have  done  in 
history  to  make  patriotism  necessary  in  our  time." 

"Perhaps  so.  Doing  is  better  than  talking,  and  you  have 
begun  by  doing  good  and  trying  to  make  people  happy.  You 
have  succeeded  in  one  case,  already." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  glance  of  inquiry. 

"What  case?"  she  asked. 

"  I  mean  myself — of  course.  You  have  made  me  perfectly 
happy  to-day." 

"I  am  glad,"  she  answered.  "I  wish  you  to  be  always 
happy." 

She  spoke  thoughtfully,  gravely,  and  gently,  and  then  turned 
from  him  a  little,  and  looked  through  the  iron  railing  of  the 
balcony,  down  at  the  deep  distance  of  the  valley.  She  was 


xxn  TAQUISARA  265 

wondering,  and  justly,  whether  during  the  past  hour  she  had 
not  made  a  mistake,  very  cruel  to  him,  in  breaking  down  all  at 
once  the  barrier  of  excessive  formality  which  hitherto  had 
stood  between  them  when  they  met.  Words  rose  to  her  lips, 
which  with  the  utmost  gentleness  should  quickly  undeceive 
him,  if  he  had  been  deceived;  but  when  she  looked  at  him 
and  saw  his  happy,  appealing  eyes  and  his  transparent  face, 
her  courage  was  not  ready.  Perhaps  he  was  dying,  as  she  had 
been  told.  She  turned  again  and  watched  the  misty  depths. 

"  Don  Gianluca — "  she  began,  with  a  little  hesitation.  But 
as  she  spoke  there  was  a  footfall  in  the  embrasure. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  say  ? "  asked  Gianluca,  knowing 
from  her  tone  that  she  had  meant  to  speak  of  some  grave 
matter. 

"  Nothing  ! "  she  answered,  with  a  little  sharpness.  "  Pray 
take  my  chair,  Duchessa,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  good  lady, 
who  had  come  slowly  forward  till  she  stood  with  her  head  just 
out  in  the  air.  "  It  is  time  for  luncheon,"  she  added,  as  she 
made  the  Duchessa  sit  down,  nodded  quickly  to  Gianluca,  and 
went  in. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  regularity  of  the  existence  at  Muro  pleased  the  old  couple, 
and  contributed  in  a  measure  to  allay  their  perpetual  anxiety 
about  their  son  and  to  calm  their  uneasiness  about  the  whole 
situation.  They  were  both  too  wise  and  too  courteous  to  press 
the  question  of  marriage  upon  Veronica  under  the  present  cir 
cumstances,  but  they  did  not  feel  that  they  were  led  too  far  by 
their  affection  for  Gianluca  when  they  told  each  other,  in  the 
privacy  of  the  Duchessa's  dressing-room,  that  after  what  Vero 
nica  had  now  done  she  was  bound,  in  common  self-respect,  to 
marry  him.  That  he  would  recover  from  his  illness,  they  never 
doubted ;  for,  as  has  been  said,  the  truth  had  been  kept  from 
them,  in  so  far  as  the  prognostications  of  doctors  could  be 
looked  upon  as  worthy  of  belief.  He  had  certainly  been  much 
better  since  they  had  brought  him  to  Muro,  and  they  secretly 
wished  that  they  might  all  stay  where  they  were  until  the 
autumn. 

On  that  first  day,  Veronica  had  been  on  the  point  of  speaking 


266  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

very  plainly  to  Gianluca,  intending  to  tell  him  once  again  that 
he  must  not  be  deceived,  that  she  should  never  marry  him, 
and  indeed  had  no  intention  of  ever  marrying  at  all.  But  she 
had  been  interrupted  by  the  coming  of  the  Duchessa ;  and,  as 
she  had  not  spoken  at  the  first  opportunity,  she  did  not  pur 
posely  create  another  at  once.  She  was  not  skilful  in  such 
situations.  When  her  directness  came  into  conflict  with  her 
sense  of  delicacy,  one  or  the  other  gave  way;  for  in  serious 
matters  she  instinctively  hated  complicated  methods,  and 
though  she  could  be  hard  and  perhaps  unnecessarily  cruel,  yet 
she  would  at  any  time  rather  be  overkind  than  take  refuge  in 
the  compromises  of  what  most  people  call  tact.  The  weak 
nesses  of  the  strong  are  like  the  crevasses  in  a  glacier ;  they 
have  a  general  direction,  but  it  is  impossible  to  know  certainly 
beforehand  the  precise  depth  or  importance  of  any  one  of  them, 
nor  how  far  it  may  lead.  The  little  strengths  of  weak  people 
are  like  jagged  rocks  jutting  up  in  shifting  sands  and  changing 
tide,  the  more  dangerous  to  the  unwary  because  they  are  few 
and  unexpected,  and  no  one  can  tell  where  they  lie,  just  below 
the  surface.  Many  a  brave  enterprise  has  gone  to  pieces  upon 
the  stupid,  unforeseen  obstinacy  of  a  despised  weakling. 

Veronica,  like  other  people,  even  the  very  strongest,  had 
weak  points,  or  moments  when  some  points  of  her  character 
were  weak,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing  in  result.  She 
dreaded  to  hurt  Gianluca,  and  since  the  occasion  had  passed 
when  she  might  have  made  everything  clear,  and  would  have 
done  so,  she  found  it  hard  to  decide  how  to  act. 

Taquisara  had  told  her  that  the  man  was  dying.  If  that 
were  true,  it  could  make  no  difference,  whether  he  believed 
that  she  would  marry  him  or  not.  The  thought  of  his  death 
was  terribly  painful,  and  she  thrust  it  from  her ;  for  she  was 
not  heartless,  and  in  the  days  that  followed  their  conversation 
on  the  balcony,  her  affection  grew  to  be  as  real  and  deep  as  it 
could  possibly  have  been  for  a  most  dearly  loved  brother.  For 
her,  there  had  been  none  of  those  ties  in  which  such  affections 
live  and  grow  and  become  parts  of  life  itself.  Fatherless, 
motherless,  without  brother,  or  sisters,  the  girl  had  grown  up 
not  knowing  what  she  had  to  give,  and  giving  scarcely  anything 
at  all  of  what  was  best  in  her.  She  was  reticent  and  proud, 
and  could  never  be  attached  to  many  people.  Bianca  had 
been  her  friend,  in  a  way,  but  Bianca's  life  was  mysterious  to 
her,  and  Pictro  Ghisleri  had  come  between  the  two. 


xxlil  TAQUISARA  267 

And  now,  through  many  months,  by  the  intimacy  of  corre 
spondence  which  had  suddenly  turned  to  an  intimacy  of  real 
converse  in  which  she  had 'not  been  disappointed,  she  had 
grown — for  it  was  a  true  growth — to  the  power  of  a  most 
devoted  friendship,  capable  of  great  and  lasting  sacrifice.  It 
was  a  friendship,  too,  that  was,  as  it  were,  presanctified  by  the 
rising  shadow  of  near  death,  fore-hallowed  by  the  sure  suffering 
of  its  coming  end.  It  would  be  hard  indeed  to  cut  from 
Gianluca's  heart  the  one  flower  of  his  loving  belief. 

But  then,  when  she  sat  beside  him  on  the  balcony  in  the 
shady  hours,  and  the  great  wave  of  life  came  up  to  her  from 
the  southern  valley,  she  could  not  believe  that  he  was  really  to 
die.  And  then,  she  hesitated,  and  she  wished  to  do  what  was 
right  and  true  by  him,  pain  or  no  pain.  Sometimes  there  was 
a  little  colour  in  his  face,  and  often  the  deep  blue  light  came 
into  his  beautiful  eyes.  He  was  to  live,  then,  and  she  felt  that 
she  was  cruel,  and  base,  and  cowardly  to  let  his  thoughts  of 
her  grow. 

Those  were  the  good  days.  There  were  worse  ones,  when 
he  lay  like  a  dead  angel  before  her,  and  only  in  his  eyes  there 
was  a  little  life.  Then  more  than  once,  she  gave  him  the 
magic  of  her  touch,  laid  one  hand  softly  upon  one  of  his,  or 
smoothed  his  silk  pillow  and  arranged  the  shawl  about  him. 
Perhaps  she  was  wrong  to  do  such  things,  just  because  she  was 
so  young ;  but  when  she  did  them  he  breathed  freely  again, 
and  the  faint  false  dawn  of  a  new  day  that  might  never 
brighten  rose  in  the  alabaster  cheeks. 

Once,  Taquisara,  standing  on  the  great  round  bastion  below, 
unnoticed  by  them  both  under  the  spreading  vine,  turned 
suddenly  by  chance  and  looked  up  through  the  leaves,  and  he 
saw  how  Veronica  was  bending  forward  towards  his  friend  and 
touching  one  hand  of  his — for  it  was  not  far  to  see.  Taquisara 
did  not  look  again,  but  presently  he  went  in,  and  there  was 
less  of  unconcern  in  his  handsome  bronze  face  that  day,  and 
his  dark  eyes  were  harder  and  colder  than  they  were  wont 
to  be. 

Veronica  liked  him,  and  forgot  altogether  the  unpleasantness 
which  there  had  been  between  them.  He  was  as  gentle  as  a 
woman  with  Gianluca.  He  seemed  to  be  strong,  too,  for  on 
the  bad  days  when  his  friend  could  not  walk  at  all,  he  carried 
him  like  a  child  from  room  to  room.  Veronica  saw  how 
necessary  he  was,  and  he  knew  it  himself,  for  after  his  first 


268  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

protest  he  made  no  attempt  to  go  away.  Gianluca,  naturally 
sensitive  and  abnormally  impressionable,  hated  to  be  touched 
by  servants,  as  some  invalids  do,  and  Taquisara's  constant 
presence  saved  him  much  suffering,  none  the  less  acute  because 
it  was  imaginary. 

At  luncheon,  at  dinner,  whenever  the  Duca  and  Duchessa 
were  present,  Taquisara  did  his  best  to  help  the  conversation 
and  always  seemed  cheerful,  unconcerned,  and  hopeful  for 
Gianluca's  recovery.  It  was  on  rare  occasions,  when  Veronica 
found  herself  alone  with  him  for  a  few  moments,  or  together 
with  him  and  Don  Teodoro,  that  the  man  appeared  to  her 
silent,  morose,  and  sometimes  almost  ill-tempered.  He  did 
not  again  speak  rudely  in  her  presence,  but  she  guessed  that 
the  unspoken  thought  was  constantly  in  his  mind — that,  and 
something  else  which  she  could  not  understand.  Daily,  hourly 
perhaps,  he  was  inwardly  accusing  her  of  playing  with  Gianluca, 
as  he  had  expressed  it. 

Strange  to  say,  she  began  to  care  for  his  opinion  and  to  wish 
that  he  could  understand  her  better;  and  because  he  could 
not,  she  resented  the  opinion  which  she  thought  he  held  of 
her.  When  she  was  with  him,  she  felt  something  which  she 
did  not  recognize  in  herself — a  desire  to  attack  him,  for  no 
reason  whatever,  and  at  the  same  time  a  wish  that  he  might 
like  her  better.  Even  in  her  childhood  she  had  never  cared 
very  much  whether  people  liked  her  or  not. 

One  day  it  rained, — for  it  was  in  August, — and  from  time  to 
time  the  enormous  thunder-storms  rolled  up  out  of  the  valley 
and  crashed  and  split  themselves  upon  the  sharp  peak  above 
Muro,  and  rumbled  away  to  northward  up  the  pass,  while  the 
deluge  of  cold  rain  descended  in  their  track. 

It  was  afternoon.  The  windows  were  all  shut,  the  Duca  and 
Duchessa  had  disappeared  for  their  daily  sleep,  as  they  always 
did,  and  Veronica  and  Taquisara  kept  Gianluca  company  in 
one  of  the  big  rooms.  He  was  better  than  usual,  but  Veronica 
found  it  hard  to  amuse  him,  and  tried  to  imagine  some  diver 
sion  for  the  long  hours. 

"  Can  you  fence  ?  "  she  asked,  suddenly,  of  Taquisara. 

"  Of  course — after  a  fashion,"  he  answered,  with  a  laugh  of 
surprise  at  the  question,  which  seemed  absurd  to  him. 

"  Will  you  fence  with  me  ?  " 

"I  ?  Oh — I  remember  hearing  that  you  took  fencing  lessons 
at  the  Princess  Corleone's.  If  it  amuses  you,  of  course  I  will." 


xxin  TAQUISARA  269 

"I  have  all  my  things  here,"  said  Veronica.  "There  are 
any  number  of  foils,  and  I  got  two  men's  jackets  and  masks, 
just  in  the  hope  that  they  might  be  wanted  some  day.  I  am 
very  fond  of  it,  you  know.  We  can  move  the  table  away  from 
the  middle  of  the  room — it  will  be  something  to  do.  It  is  dull, 
when  it  rains,  and  Don  Gianluca  can  watch  us  and  tell  me 
when  I  make  mistakes.  It  will  amuse  us  all." 

"  Gianluca  could  give  us  both  lessons,"  said  Taquisara. 
"  He  fences  beautifully." 

"Ah — if  I  only  could  !"  exclaimed  Gianluca,  in  a  tone  that 
hurt  Veronica. 

The  invalid  looked  down  at  his  long,  thin  legs  and  emaciated 
hands,  and  he  tried  to  smile  bravely. 

"You  would  rather  not  see  us — we  will  not  do  it,"  said 
Veronica,  gently,  bending  a  little  to  see  his  face,  as  she  stood 
near  him. 

"  Oh  no  !  Please  do  !  "  he  answered.  "  I  have  never  seen 
a  woman  fence — I  cannot  imagine  how  you  could.  It  would 
amuse  me  very  much.  Please  send  for  the  foils." 

The  things  were  brought,  the  tables  and  chairs  were  moved 
away,  Taquisara  drew  Gianluca's  big  easy-chair,  with  him  in  it, 
towards  the  window,  and  Veronica  put  on  her  leathern  jacket 
and  glove,  and  stood  holding  her  mask  in  her  hand,  as  she 
bent  over  the  foils  looking  for  her  favourite  one.  She  found 
it,  and  came  forward,  carrying  both  mask  and  foil,  while 
Taquisara  got  ready.  Gianluca  looked  at  her,  and  smiled. 
There  was  something  defiant  and  warlike  about  the  small,  well- 
poised  head,  the  aquiline  features,  and  the  bright  eyes.  With 
one  foot  a  little  in  advance,  she  stood  up,  straight  and  daring, 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  waiting  for  her  adversary.  The 
grey  light  of  the  rainy  afternoon  gleamed  coldly  along  the 
steel. 

Taquisara  took  the  one  of  the  two  masks  which  fitted  him 
the  better,  and  picked  out  a  foil.  He  did  not  think  of  putting 
on  a  jacket  to  fence  with  a  woman. 

"  No  jacket  ? "  asked  Veronica,  with  a  short  laugh,  as  she 
slipped  her  mask  over  her  head. 

He  laughed,  too,  but  said  nothing,  considering  it  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  stepping  into  position  he  stood  before  Veronica 
with  lowered  foil.  She  raised  hers,  saluted  him,  and  then 
Gianluca,  as  though  they  were  to  fence  a  bout  for  a  prize. 
Taquisara  did  the  same. 


270  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Oh ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  surprise,  as  both  were  about  to  fall 
into  guard.  "  Are  you  left-handed  ?  " 

"  Yes — did  you  never  notice  it  ?  "  She  laughed  again,  as  her 
foil  played  upon  his  for  a  second.  "  Now  then  !  "  she  cried. 

Taquisara  was  not  an  exceptionally  good  fencer,  and  had 
spent  very  little  time  in  the  study  of  the  art.  He  was  bold, 
quick,  and  somewhat  reckless,  and  in  two  or  three  slight  affairs 
in  which,  like  most  men  of  his  society  in  the  south,  he  had 
been  unavoidably  engaged,  he  had  wounded  his  adversaries 
rather  by  surprise  and  indifference  to  his  own  safety,  than  by 
any  superior  skill.  He  had  expected  that  Veronica  would  make 
a  few  conventional  passes  and  parries,  and  grow  tired  of  the 
sport  in  a  few  minutes.  To  his  astonishment,  he  saw  in  a 
moment  that  she  could  really  fence  fairly  well,  while  the  fact  of 
being  left-handed  gave  her  a  great  advantage,  even  against  an 
otherwise  superior  adversary.  He  had  of  course  intended  and 
expected  only  to  defend  himself  without  ever  really  attacking, 
as  men  generally  do  when  they  fence  with  women.  But  he  was 
mistaken  in  supposing  that  this  was  what  Veronica  wanted. 

She  tried  his  wrist  once  or  twice  and  played  a  little,  feeling 
her  way.  Then  there  was  a  quick  flash,  a  disengagement,  a  feint, 
a  lunge  that  was  like  a  man's,  and  as  her  long  left  arm  shot  out 
like  lightning,  her  foil  bent  nearly  double,  with  the  button  full 
on  his  breast.  She  stepped  back,  and  he  heard  her  short 
laugh  again,  followed  by  Gianluca's,  and  he  laughed,  too, 
somewhat  disconcerted. 

"  I  took  you  by  surprise,"  she  said.  "  You  had  better  put 
on  a  jacket — it  is  just  as  well." 

"  Oh  no — but  you  can  really  fence  !  I  had  no  idea.  I  shall 
be  more  careful.  Try  again." 

They  engaged  once  more,  and  Taquisara  was  cautious.  His 
defence  did  not  compare  with  his  attack,  and  he  could  not 
take  the  offensive  in  earnest.  He  parried  her  quick  thrusts  with 
some  difficulty,  and  presently  she  touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"Why  do  you  not  attack  me?"  she  asked,  impatiently. 
"  You  need  not  be  afraid — I  can  defend  myself  pretty  well." 

He  did  not  altogether  like  to  lunge  as  though  he  were 
fencing  with  a  man,  and  his  hesitation  gave  her  a  still  greater 
advantage.  She  felt  an  unaccountable  delight  in  attacking 
him  furiously,  and  in  her  excitement  she  uttered  sharp  little 
cries  when  she  touched  him,  as  she  did  more  than  once.  She 
felt  that  she  had  never  fenced  so  well  in  her  life,  and  she  was 


xxiii  TAQUISARA  271 

glad  that  she  should  do  better  against  him  than  against  Bianca 
or  her  fencing-master.  There  was  a  strange  delight  in  it.  He, 
on  his  part,  did  his  best  at  defence,  but  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  a  real  attack.  He  tried  to  disarm  her,  by  sheer 
strength,  but  he  failed  utterly.  Her  wrist  was  more  supple  than 
the  steel  foil  itself,  and  she  was  left-handed. 

It  was  rather  wild  play,  but  it  was  amusing  to  wTatch,  and 
Gianluca  looked  on  with  delighted  appreciation.  She  was  so 
slight  and  graceful,  and  yet  so  quick  and  strong.  As  for 
Taquisara,  he  was  glad  when  she  drew  back,  took  her  mask 
from  her  face,  and  said  that  it  was  enough. 

"  You  ought  to  know  that  you  can  hardly  ever  disarm  a  left- 
handed  person  when  you  are  engaged  in  carte,"  observed  Gian 
luca,  looking  at  Taquisara. 

Though  he  had  never  been  in  a  quarrel  in  his  life,  he  had 
been  passionately  fond  of  fencing,  and  in  his  real  interest  in 
what  he  had  seen  he  did  not  even  think  of  complimenting 
Veronica.  She  was  keen  enough  to  feel  that  his  scientific 
remark  was  better  than  any  flattery. 

Taquisara  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  smiled. 

" Donna  Veronica  fences  like  a  man,"  he  said.  "And  I  am 
not  very  good  at  it  either.  She  would  have  killed  me  two  or 
three  times  ! " 

"  You  never  really  attacked  me,"  she  answered,  flushed  and 
happy.  "  By  the  by,"  she  added,  seeing  that  he  was  looking 
over  the  other  foils,  "  one  of  those  is  sharp — the  one  with  the 
green  hilt — be  careful  not  to  take  it  by  mistake  if  we  fence 
again,  for  you  might  really  kill  me." 

"  How  did  it  come  here  ?  "  he  asked,  taking  up  the  one  she 
indicated. 

"  It  was  lying  about  at  the  Princess  Corleone's.  I  took  it 
by  mistake,  I  suppose,  with  my  things.  I  believe  that  Signor 
Ghisleri  brought  it  to  show  her,  one  day.  I  think  he  said  it 
had  been  used." 

She  threw  off  her  leathern  jacket,  and  tossed  the  other  things 
aside. 

"  Let  us  fence  a  little  every  day,"  she  said.  "That  is,  if  you 
will  really  fence,  instead  of  playing  with  me." 

"I  am  certainly  not  able  to  play  with  you,"  he  answered. 
"  And  I  shall  wear  a  jacket  next  time." 

"  You  are  wonderful,"  said  Gianluca,  still  watching  her  with 
admiration. 


272  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

The  storm  had  passed,  and  the  rain  was  over.  Before  long 
the  Duca  and  Duchessa  would  appear  for  tea,  and  Taquisara 
said  that  he  would  go  for  a  walk.  Veronica  rang  and  had  the 
room  set  in  order  again,  and  sat  down  by  Gianluca.  The 
exercise  had  done  her  good,  and  she  still  felt  that  fierce  little 
satisfaction  at  having  fought  with  Taquisara.  There  was  an 
unwonted  colour  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  brown  hair  had  been 
somewhat  ruffled  by  the  mask.  Her  hands  were  warm,  and 
tingled,  and  she  felt  intensely  alive.  It  had  been  pleasant,  for 
once,  to  put  out  all  her  energy  in  something  like  a  real  struggle. 

Little  by  little  her  sensations  wore  off,  and  she  was  quite 
quiet  again,  but  the  recollection  of  them  remained  and  made 
her  wish  to  renew  them  every  day. 

"You  are  wonderful,"  Gianluca  repeated,  when  they  had 
talked  of  other  things  for  a  while.  "  Taquisara  is  not  a  fencing- 
master,  but  he  is  as  good  as  most  men,  and  better  than  many. 
You  gave  him  trouble,  I  could  see.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to 
defend  himself  against  you,  sometimes." 

"  Did  it  amuse  you  to  watch  us  ?  "  asked  Veronica. 

"  Yes — of  course  ! " 

"  Then  we  will  do  it  again,  every  day.  I  am  glad  of  a  little 
practice,  and  it  will  not  hurt  him  either.  A  descendant  of 
Tancred  ought  to  fence  better  than  that !  I  suppose  that  your 
mother  would  be  horrified." 

"  She  might  be  a  little  surprised." 

"Shall  we  tell  her?" 

"Not  unless  we  are  obliged  to,"  answered  Gianluca,  with  a 
smile.  "  We  do  not  tell  her  everything." 

"  No,"  said  Veronica,  acquiescing  rather  thoughtfully. 

Gianluca  was  in  that  state  in  which  there  is  a  delight  in 
having  little,  harmless  secrets  from  the  world  in  common  with 
one  much  loved,  but  not  yet  wholly  won,  and  each  small  secrecy 
was  to  the  bond  that  held  him  what  the  silver  threads  are  to 
Damascus  steel,  welded  into  the  whole  that  the  blade  may  bend 
double  without  breaking.  But  to  Veronica  it  was  different ;  for 
she  guessed  instinctively  how  he  looked  upon  such  trifles,  and 
she  did  not  wish  them  to  multiply  unduly.  Each  one  was  a 
sting  to  her  conscience. 

"  I  hate  secrets,"  she  said,  gravely,  after  a  pause.  "  Let  us 
tell  her.  It  is  much  better." 

"As  you  like,"  answered  Gianluca,  with  a  little  disappoint 
ment,  which  she  did  not  fail  to  notice. 


xxiii  TAQUISARA  273 

"  You  think  that  she  will  be  scandalized  ?  And  that  we  shall 
not  fence  any  more?  Why?  I  am  sure,  if  she  could  see  us, 
she  would  think  it  very  proper.  It  is  not  improper,  is  it?" 
She  asked  the  last  question  anxiously,  as  though  in  an  after 
thought. 

"  Improper  ?  No  !  How  absurd  !  If  everything  that  is  un 
usual  were  to  be  considered  improper,  our  writing  to  each  other 
would  be  improper,  too.  But  we  kept  it  a  secret,  all  the  same. 
I  cannot  imagine  talking  about  it.  For  me — everything  that 
belongs  to  you  is  a  secret." 

Veronica  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  her  face  grew  still 
more  grave,  but  she  did  not  answer.  The  struggle  had  begun 
again,  and  the  hesitation.  Should  she  tell  him,  once  for  all, 
that  she  really  never  could  love  him  ?  Should  she  leave  him 
the  illusion  he  loved  so  well  ?  Was  he  to  die,  or  was  he  to  live  ? 
The  answer  to  each  question  seemed  to  lie  in  the  query  of  the 
next.  He  spoke  again  before  she  broke  the  silence. 

"  Do  you  not  feel  that — a  little — not  as  I  do,  but  just  a 
little,  about  me  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  voice  not  timid,  but  very  soft. 

"No,"  she  answered,  sadly.  "Not  as  you  do.  No;  it  is 
quite  different." 

She  did  not  look  at  him  at  once,  for  she  was  almost  afraid  to 
meet  his  eyes,  but  she  heard  him  catch  his  breath,  as  though 
to  strangle  a  sigh  by  main  force,  and  his  head  moved  on  the 
cushion. 

She  had  begun  to  hurt  him. 

"  I  thought  you  might,"  he  said,  faintly  but  steadily.  "  I 
almost  thought  you  did." 

"  No,"  she  repeated,  with  ever-increasing  gentleness.  "  No. 
Do  not  think  that — please  do  not ! " 

He  said  nothing,  but  again  he  moved  his  head.  Then,  seeing 
that  the  moment  had  come,  and  that  she  must  face  it  with 
truth  or  lie  to  him  while  he  lived,  she  turned  her  face  bravely 
towards  him,  to  tell  him  all  her  heart. 

"  You  are  the  only  real  friend  I  have  in  the  world,"  she  said. 
"  But  I  can  never  love  you — never,  Gianluca — never.  It  is  not 
in  me.  There  is  no  one  in  the  whole  world  for  whom  I  care  as 
I  do  for  you.  I  cannot  imagine  anything  that  I  could  not  do 
for  your  sake.  But  not  love — not  love.  That  is  something  else. 
I  do  not  know  what  it  means.  You  could  make  me  understand 
anything  but  that.  Oh — why  must  I  say  it,  when  it  is  so  hard 
to  say  ?  " 

S 


274  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

His  face  seemed  cut,  as  a  mask  of  pain,  in  alabaster,  and  the 
appealing,  hungry  eyes  waited  for  each  fresh  hurt. 

"  You  made  me  think  that  you  might  love  me,"  he  said,  the 
slow  words  hardly  forming  themselves  on  his  dry  lips. 

"  Then  God  forgive  me  ! "  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands  and 
bending  her  face  over  them.  "  And  yet — and  yet  I  knew  it.  I 
felt  it.  I  meant  to  tell  you,  if  you  did  not  know !  I  only 
wished  not  to  hurt  you — it  is  so  hard  to  say." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  scarcely  above  his  breath.  "I  see  it 
is,"  he  added,  after  a  long  time. 

As  he  lay  in  the  deep  chair,  he  turned  his  face  from  her,  on 
the  cushion,  till  she  could  not  see  his  eyes,  and  then  was  quite 
still.  It  would  have  been  easier  if  he  had  reproached  her 
vehemently,  if  he  had  turned  and  tried  to  win  her  again,  and 
poured  out  his  heart  full  of  love.  But  he  lay  there,  like  a  dead 
angel,  with  his  face  turned  from  her,  hardly  breathing. 

"  I  have  been  cowardly,  and  base,  and  bad ! "  she  cried, 
bending  over  her  clasped  hands,  and  speaking  to  herself.  "  I 
should  have  said  it — I  said  it  long  ago,  at  Bianca's,  and  I 
should  have  said  it  again — but  I  was  afraid — afraid — oh  ! 
afraid!" 

Her  low  voice  trembled  in  anger  against  herself,  in  pity  for 
him,  in  sorrow  for  them  both.  She  looked  up  and  saw  him 
still  motionless.  It  was  as  though  she  had  killed  him  and  were 
sitting  beside  his  body.  But  he  still  lived,  and  might  live.  For 
one  instant  she  felt  a  mad  impulse  to  give  him  her  life,  to  marry 
him,  not  loving  him,  to  save  him  if  she  could,  to  atone  for  what 
she  had  done.  But  a  horrible  under-thought  told  her  that  it 
would  be  but  gambling  for  her  freedom  with  his  existence,  and 
that  if  she  did  it,  she  should  do  it  because  she  felt  that  he  must 
surely  die.  Even  her  simplicity  seemed  gone.  She  looked 
again ;  he  had  not  moved. 

She  threw  herself  upon  her  knees  beside  his  great  chair,  her 
clasped  hands  on  his  thin  shoulder,  in  a  sort  of  agony  of  despair. 

"  Speak  to  me  !  "  she  cried.  "  Forgive  me — say  that  I  have 
not  killed  you — Gianluca — dear  ! " 

One  shadowy  hand  of  his  was  lifted,  and  touched  hers.  It 
was  as  cold  as  though  it  had  lain  dead  in  the  dew.  She  took 
it  quickly  and  held  it  fast.  He  did  not  turn  his  head. 

"  It  has  been  my  life,"  he  said,  "  my  whole  life." 

He  did  not  try  to  draw  away  his  hand,  but  let  her  hold  it,  if 
she  would.  There  was  still  magic  in  her  touch. 


xxiii  TAQUISARA  275 

"  Forgive  me ! "  she  repeated  more  softly,  and  her  cheek 
touched  the  arm  of  the  chair.  "  Forgive  me  ! " 

At  last  he  turned  his  face  very  wearily  and  slowly  on  the 
brown  silk  cushion,  and  looked  at  her  bent  head.  Instinctively 
she  raised  her  hot  eyes. 

"  Forgive  you  ?  "  He  spoke  very  sorrowfully.  "  I  love  you. 
What  is  there  to  forgive  ?  It  is  not  your  fault — " 

"  It  is — it  is  ! "  she  cried,  speaking  into  his  sad  eyes  for 
forgiveness,  with  all  her  soul. 

"  I  shall  die — but  it  is  not  your  fault,"  he  answered,  and  he 
sank  back,  for  he  had  raised  himself  a  little.  "  It  is  not  your 
fault,"  he  repeated.  "  Do  not  ask  me  to  forgive  you.  Perhaps 
I  should  have  lived  longer — I  do  not  know,  for  I  only  lived  for 
you.  No — I  am  quiet  now.  I  can  speak  better  than  I  could. 
You  must  not  think  that  you  have  killed  me,  if  I  die.  Men 
live  through  worse,  but  not  men  like  me,  perhaps.  Something 
else  is  killing  me  slowly,  but  they  will  not  tell  me  what  it  is. 
Never  mind.  It  will  do  as  well  without  a  name,  and  if  I  get 
well,  it  needs  none.  After  all,  I  am  not  dead  yet,  and  while  I 
am  alive,  I  can  love  you.  You  have  been  all  to  me.  If  you 
had  loved  me,  I  should  have  had  more  than  all  the  world,  and 
that  would  have  been  too  much.  If  I  deceived  myself,  loving 
you  as  I  did, — as  I  do, — it  is  not  your  fault,  Veronica.  It  is 
not  your  fault.  There  was  a  time  last  year,  when  I  would  have 
done  anything,  given  everything,  life  and  all,  for  one  of  a 
thousand  words  you  have  written  and  said  to  me  since  then — 
when  I  would  have  committed  crimes  for  the  touch  of  this  little 
hand.  Do  you  see  ?  It  is  all  my  fault.  That  is  what  I  wanted 
you  to  understand." 

He  had  said  all  he  could,  and  his  breath  came  with  an  effort 
at  the  last.  But  his  lips  smiled  bravely  as  he  looked  at  her, 
still  kneeling  by  his  side.  Then  he  seemed  to  realize  that  she 
should  not  be  there. 

"Get  up,  dear,"  he  said,  with  failing  voice.  "You  must  not 
kneel — some  one  might  come — they  would  think — that  you 
meant — something. " 

His  lids  quivered  and  closed,  and  his  lips  trembled  oddly. 
She  felt  his  hand  relax,  and  she  thought  that  he  was  gone. 
Instantly  she  sprang  to  her  feet  beside  him,  and  lifted  his  head, 
her  face  full  of  the  horror  that  goes  before  the  wave  of  pain  for 
those  one  loves.  But  he  had  not  even  fainted.  He  opened 
his  eyes,  and  smiled,  and  tried  to  speak  again,  but  could  not. 


276  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Veronica's  lips  moved,  too,  as  she  stood  there,  supporting 
him  a  little  with  her  arm  and  stiffened  with  terror  for  his  life. 
But  she  could  not  speak  either.  She  watched  his  face  with 
most  intense  anxiety.  Again  and  again  he  opened  his  eyes, 
and  saw  her,  and  he  felt  her  arm  under  him. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  he  said,  suddenly.     "  I  was  a  little  faint." 

She  drew  away  her  arm  with  a  deep  breath  of  relief,  and 
he  sighed  when  it  was  gone.  But  neither  of  them  spoke. 
Veronica  rang,  and  sent  for  his  favourite  wine,  and  he  drank  a 
little  of  it.  Then  she  sat  down  beside  him,  where  she  had  sat 
before,  and  the  room  was  very  still. 

It  was  hot,  too,  for  no  one  had  opened  the  window  since 
it  had  stopped  raining.  Veronica  rose  and  undid  the  fastenings 
and  threw  back  the  glass,  and  the  cool  air  rushed  in,  laden  with 
the  sweet  smell  of  the  wet  earth.  As  she  came  back,  she  saw 
that  his  eyes  followed  all  her  movements,  gravely,  as  a  sick 
child  watches  its  nurse  moving  about  its  room.  There  was 
no  reproach  in  their  look,  but  they  were  still  fixed  on  her,  when 
she  sat  down  again  by  his  side. 

"  Veronica,"  said  the  faint,  far  voice,  presently.  "  May  I  ask 
you  one  question,  that  I  have  no  right  to  ask?" 

"Anything,"  she  answered.  "And  you  have  the  right  to 
ask  anything." 

"  No — not  this.     Do  you  love  another  man  ?  " 

The  still  blue  eyes  widened,  in  earnestness. 

"  No,  Gianluca.    No — by  the  truth  of  God — no  living  man!" 

"  Nor  one  dead  ?  "  His  tone  sank  almost  to  a  whisper,  and 
still  his  eyes  were  wide  for  her  answer. 

A  faint  and  tender  light  came  into  her  face,  so  faint,  so  far 
reflected  from  an  infinite  somewhere,  that  only  such  eyes  as  his 
could  have  seen  it. 

"  There  was  Bosio,"  she  said,  softly.  "  He  spoke  to  me  the 
night  he  died — I  could  have  married  him — I  should  have  loved 
him — perhaps." 

If  the  little  phrases  were  broken,  it  was  not  by  hesitation;  it 
seemed  rather  as  though  what  they  meant  must  find  each 
memory  to  have  meaning,  one  by  one,  and  word  by  word — and 
finding,  wondered  at  what  had  once  been  true. 

And  Gianluca  smiled,  as  he  lay  still,  and  the  lids  of  his  eyes 
closed  peacefully  and  naturally,  opening  again  with  another 
look.  He  was  too  weak  to  be  surprised  by  what  he  had  only 
vaguely  guessed,  from  some  word  she  had  let  fall,  but  he  knew 


XXIH  TAQUISARA  277 

well  enough,  from  her  voice  and  face,  that  she  had  never  loved 
Bosio  Macomer,  nor  any  other  man,  dead  or  living.  And 
Hope,  that  is  ever  last  to  leave  a  breaking  heart,  nestled  back 
into  her  own  sweet  place,  breathing  soft  things  of  love,  and  life, 
and  golden  years  to  be. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said.  "  I  should  not  have  asked  you.  It 
was  kind  to  answer." 

They  did  not  speak  again,  and  presently  the  door  opened. 
The  old  Duca  held  it  back  with  a  stately  bow,  and  the  Duchessa 
swept  into  the  room  with  that  sort  of  uncertain  swaying  motion, 
which  is  all  that  weakness  leaves  of  grace.  And  the  Duca 
shuffled  in  after  her,  and  closed  the  door  most  precisely,  for  he 
was  a  precise  old  man. 

"  I  thought  it  was  time  for  tea,  my  dear,"  said  the  Duchessa. 
"  We  have  had  such  a  good  sleep  ! " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THOUGH  Gianluca  had  seemed  to  gain  strength  during  the  first 
week  of  his  stay  at  Muro,  he  appeared  to  lose  it  even  more 
rapidly  after  that  memorable  afternoon.  It  was  not  that  he  lost 
heart  and  control  of  courage ;  on  the  contrary,  he  spoke  all  at 
once  more  hopefully,  and  grew  most  particular  in  the  carrying 
out  of  each  detail  of  the  day,  precisely  in  the  manner  prescribed 
by  the  doctors.  He  forced  himself  to  eat,  he  did  his  best  to 
sleep  a  certain  number  of  hours,  he  made  Taquisara  carry  him 
out  into  the  air  and  back  again  at  fixed  times,  in  order  that 
the  extreme  regularity  of  his  life  might  help  his  recovery  if 
possible.  But  all  this  was  of  no  use.  It  had  seemed  incon 
ceivable  that  he  should  grow  more  thin,  and  yet  his  face  and 
throat  and  hands  shrunk  day  by  day.  He  could  not  use  his 
legs  at  all,  now,  and  he  told  no  one  that  he  had  hardly  any 
sensation  in  them. 

The  Duchessa  prayed  for  her  son,  always  in  her  own  room 
and  sometimes  in  the  church,  whither  she  went  often  alone  in 
the  afternoon,  and  sometimes  accompanied  by  her  husband. 
She  even  curtailed  her  daily  siesta  in  order  to  have  more  time 
for  prayer.  No  doubt,  she  would  have  given  anything  in  the 
world  for  Gianluca,  but  she  had  very  little  else  to  give,  beyond 


278  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

that  sacrifice,  which  did  not  seem  small  or  laughable  to  her. 
The  Duca  said  little,  but  often  shook  his  head,  unexpectedly, 
and  his  weak  eyes  were  watery.  He  sometimes  walked  twenty- 
five  times  round  the  top  of  the  big  lower  bastion,  under  the 
vines  that  grew  upon  the  trellis  over  it,  before  the  midday 
breakfast,  while  the  Duchessa  was  at  her  devotions.  At  every 
round,  when  he  came  to  the  point  fronting  the  valley  he 
paused  a  moment  and  repeated  very  much  the  same  words 
each  time. 

"  My  poor  son !  My  poor  Gianluca ! "  he  said,  and  then 
shuffled  round  the  bastion  again. 

Taquisara  scarcely  left  the  sick  man's  side  except  when 
Gianluca  could  be  alone  with  Veronica.  He  was  evidently 
very  anxious,  though  his  face  betrayed  little  of  what  he  felt. 
He  knew  it,  and  was  glad  that  nature  had  given  him  that  bronze- 
like  colour,  which  could  hardly  change  at  all.  When  the  whole 
party  were  together,  he  talked ;  he  talked  when  he  was  alone 
with  Gianluca ;  but  when  he  was  with  Gianluca  and  Veronica 
he  spoke  in  monosyllables.  Once  she  noticed  that  he  was 
biting  his  lip  nervously,  just  as  he  turned  away  his  face. 

Though  Gianluca  was  worse,  without  doubt,  he  insisted  that 
there  should  be  no  change  in  his  way  of  spending  the  day.  To 
amuse  him,  Veronica  and  Taquisara  fenced  a  little  of  an  after 
noon.  But  the  Sicilian  had  no  heart  in  it,  and  evidently  did 
not  care  whether  Veronica  touched  him  or  not,  and  his  indiffer 
ence  annoyed  her,  so  that  she  sometimes  worked  herself  into 
little  furies  of  attack,  and  he,  rather  than  really  attack  her  in 
return  and  oppose  his  strength,  broke  ground  and  let  himself  be 
driven  back  across  the  room. 

"  Some  day  I  shall  take  the  foil  with  the  green  hilt,"  laughed 
Veronica.  "  Then  you  will  really  take  the  trouble  to  fight  me." 

The  foil  with  the  green  hilt  was  the  sharp  one  which  had  got 
among  the  others  by  mistake.  Taquisara  smiled  indifferently. 

"  My  life  is  at  your  service,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  seemed  a 
little  sarcastic. 

"Keep  it  for  those  who  need  it,"  she  answered,  laughing 
again,  and  glancing  at  Gianluca. 

Her  tone  was  a  little  scornful,  too,  and  Gianluca  watched 
them  both  with  some  surprise.  Almost  any  one  would  have 
thought  that  they  disliked  each  other,  but  such  a  possibility 
had  never  struck  him  before.  He  would  have  admitted  that 
Veronica  might  not  like  Taquisara,  but  that  any  one  in  the 


xxiv  TAQUISARA  279 

world  should  not  like  Veronica  was  beyond  his  comprehension. 
He  spoke  to  his  friend  about  it  when  they  were  alone. 

"  What  is  the  matter  between  you  and  Donna  Veronica  ? " 
he  asked  that  evening,  before  dinner. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Taquisara,  stopping  in  his  walk.  "What 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  dislike  her,"  said  Gianluca. 

"  I  ?  "  The  Sicilian's  strong  voice  rang  in  the  room.  "  No," 
he  added,  quietly,  and  recovering  instantly  from  his  astonish 
ment.  "  I  do  not  dislike  her.  What  makes  you  think  that  I  do?" 

"  Little  things.  You  seem  so  silent  and  out  of  temper  when 
she  is  in  the  room.  To-day  when  she  was  laughing  about  the 
pointed  foil  you  answered  her  sarcastically.  Many  little  things 
make  me  think  that  you  do  not  like  her." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Taquisara,  gravely.  "  I  like  Donna 
Veronica  very  much.  Indeed,  I  always  did,  ever  since  I  first 
saw  her.  I  am  sorry  that  my  manner  should  have  given  you  a 
wrong  impression.  I  always  feel  that  I  am  in  the  way  when  I 
am  with  you  two." 

"  You  are  never  in  the  way,"  answered  Gianluca. 

After  that,  Taquisara  was  very  careful,  but  more  than  ever  he 
did  his  best  not  to  remain  as  a  third  when  the  Duca  and 
Duchessa  were  away,  and  Veronica  and  Gianluca  could  be 
together.  The  fencing  alone  was  inevitable,  and  he  hated  it, 
though  he  went  through  it  with  a  good  grace  almost  every  day, 
since  Veronica  seemed  so  unreasonably  fond  of  the  exercise. 

She  and  Gianluca  did  not  refer  to  what  had  happened,  and 
to  what  had  been  said,  when  she  had  told  him  the  truth.  She, 
on  her  part,  felt  that  she  had  done  right,  and  that  it  was  the 
sort  of  right  which  need  not  be  done  again.  But  he,  poor 
man,  was  not  so  wholly  undeceived  as  she  thought  him  to  be. 
Since  she  loved  no  one  else,  he  could  still  hope  that  she  might 
love  him. 

Yet  he  felt  his  life  slipping  from  him,  and  he  made  desperate 
efforts  to  get  well,  insisting  upon  every  detail  of  his  invalid 
existence  as  though  each  several  minute  of  the  day  had  a 
healing  virtue  which  he  must  not  lose.  He  was  sure  that  his 
chance  of  winning  the  woman  he  loved  lay  in  living  to  win  her, 
and  he  grappled  his  soul  to  his  frail  body  with  every  thrill  of 
energy  that  his  dying  nerve  had  left,  with  all  the  tense  moral 
grip  that  love  and  despair  can  give.  And  yet  it  seemed  hope 
less,  for  his  strength  sank  daily.  At  last  he  could  not  even  sit 


280  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

up  at  table,  and  remained  lying  in  his  low  chair,  while  the  others 
ate  their  meals  hastily  in  order  not  to  leave  him  long  alone. 

The  doctor  came,  a  clever  young  man,  whom  Veronica  had 
procured  for  the  good  of  the  village.  He  shook  his  head, 
though  he  tried  to  speak  cheerfully  to  Gianluca's  father  and 
mother.  But  he  advised  them  to  send  for  the  great  authority 
whom  they  had  consulted  in  Naples,  and  under  whom  he  him 
self  had  studied.  Veronica  spoke  with  him  in  an  outer  room. 

"  I  fear  that  he  cannot  live,  but  I  am  not  infallible,"  he  said. 

"  How  long  will  he  live,  if  he  is  going  to  die  ?  "  asked  Vero 
nica,  pale  and  quiet. 

"  Do  not  ask  me — it  is  guess-work,"  answered  the  young 
doctor.  "  I  think  he  may  live  a  fortnight.  He  is  practically 
paralyzed  from  his  waist  downwards — it  is  almost  complete. 
What  he  eats  does  not  nourish  him." 

"What  has  caused  this?" 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders,  smiled  faintly,  and  made 
a  gesture  which  in  the  south  signifies  the  inevitable. 

" It  is  a  decayed  race,"  he  said;  "a  family  too  old — there  is 
no  more  blood  in  them — what  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  has  anything  to  do  with  it,"  replied 
Veronica,  rather  proudly.  "The  Serra  are  as  old  as  they. 
Did  you  see  that  gentleman  who  is  Don  Gianluca's  friend.  He 
is  descended  from  Tancred." 

"  It  is  other  blood,"  said  the  doctor. 

He  went  away,  and  the  great  physician  who  lived  in  Naples 
was  sent  for  at  once.  A  carriage  went  down  to  Eboli  to  meet 
him.  He  came,  looked,  asked  questions,  and  shook  his  head, 
very  much  as  his  pupil  had  done.  He  stayed  a  night,  and 
when  it  was  late,  Veronica  and  Taquisara  were  alone  with  him. 
He  was  a  fat  man,  with  enormous  shoulders  and  very  short 
legs,  and  a  round  face  and  dreamy  eyes  set  too  low  for  pro 
portion  of  feature.  Taquisara  thought  that  he  was  like  a  turtle 
standing  on  its  hind  flippers,  prcternaturally  endowed  with  a 
hemispherical  black  stomach,  and  a  large  watch  chain ;  but  the 
idea  did  not  seem  comic  to  him,  for  he  was  in  no  humour  to 
be  amused  at  anything. 

The  professor — for  he  was  one — talked  long  and  learnedly, 
using  a  number  of  Latin  words  with  edifying  terminations.  In 
spite  of  this,  however,  he  was  not  without  common  sense. 

"  I  have  known  people  to  recover  when  they  seemed  to  have 
no  chance  at  all,"  he  said 


xxiv  TAQUISARA  281 

"But  you  do  not  expect  him  to  live?"  asked  Taquisara, 
pressing  him. 

"  It  is  a  desperate  case,"  answered  the  physician. 

Being  very  fat,  and  having  travelled  all  day,  he  went  to  bed. 
Veronica  remained  alone  in  the  drawing-room  with  Taquisara. 
The  latter  slowly  walked  up  and  down  between  two  opposite 
doors.  Veronica  kept  her  seat,  her  head  bent,  listening  to  his 
regular  footsteps. 

"  Donna  Veronica — "  he  stopped. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  not  looking  up,  but  starting  slightly  at 
the  sound  of  his  voice.  "  What  do  you  wish  to  say  ?  " 

"  You  know  that  I  have  not  always  been  fortunate  in  what  I 
have  said  to  you,  and  that  makes  me  hesitate  to  speak  now. 
But  it  seems  to  me  that,  as  Gianluca  is  really  in  the  care  of  us 
two—" 

"  Well  ?  "  Still  she  did  not  turn  to  him,  though  he  paused 
awkwardly,  and  began  to  walk  again. 

"  Gianluca  asked  me  the  other  day  whether  I  disliked  you," 
he  said. 

"Well?  Do  you?"  Her  tone  was  unnaturally  cold,  even  to 
her  own  ears. 

He  stood  still  on  the  other  side  of  the  table,  looking  towards 
her. 

"  No,"  he  said,  as  though  he  were  making  an  effort.  "  If  he 
asked  me  the  question,  it  must  be  that  I  have  behaved  rudely 
to  you  before  him.  Have  I  ?  " 

"I  have  not  noticed  it," answered  Veronica,  as  coldly  as  before. 

"  It  would  certainly  not  have  been  intentional,  if  there  had 
been  anything  to  notice.  If  I  speak  of  it  now,  it  is  because 
Gianluca  spoke  to  me,  and  because,  if  we  are  to  talk  about  him, 
the  way  must  be  clear.  You  say  that  it  is  ?  May  I  go  on  ?  " 

Veronica  did  not  answer  at  once.  Then  she  rose  slowly, 
turned,  and  stood  before  the  low,  long  chimneypiece. 

"Why  should  we  talk  about  him  at  all?"  she  asked,  at  length 
determining  what  to  say.  "  We  shall  not  agree,  and  we  can 
only  repeat  what  we  have  both  said  before  now.  It  can  be  of 
no  use." 

"  I  have  something  more  to  say,"  replied  Taquisara. 

"  Yes.  There  may  be  more  to  be  said,  that  may  be  better 
not  said.  I  know  what  it  is.  You  once  accused  me  of  playing 
with  him.  You  said  it  rudely  and  roughly,  but  I  have  forgiven 
you  for  saying  it.  You  would  have  more  reason  for  saying  it 


282  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

now  than  you  had  then,  and  I  should  be  less  angry.  You  have 
a  better  right  to  speak,  and  I  have  less  right  to  defend  myself. 
But  I  will  speak  for  you.  I  am  not  afraid." 

"  No.     That  is  the  last  thing  any  one  could  say  of  you  ! " 

"  Or  of  you,  perhaps,"  she  said,  more  kindly,  and  it  was  the 
first  word  of  appreciation  she  had  ever  given  him.  "  We  are 
neither  of  us  cowards.  That  is  why  I  am  willing  to  tell  you 
what  I  think  of  myself.  It  is  almost  what  you  think  of  me — 
that  I  have  done  a  thousand  things  which  might  make  Don 
Gianluca,  and  his  father  and  mother,  too,  believe  that  if  he 
recovers  I  mean  to  marry  him.  But  you  think  me  a  heartless 
woman.  I  am  not.  There  are  things  which  you  neither  know, 
nor  could  understand  if  you  knew  them.  I  will  ask  you  only 
one  question.  Is  there  any  imaginable  reason  why  I  should 
wish  to  hurt  him  ?  " 

"  None  that  I  can  guess,"  answered  Taquisara,  looking  into 
her  eyes. 

"  Then  you  must  understand  what  I  have  done.  Out  of  too 
much  friendship  I  have  made  a  great  mistake.  What  you  can 
never  understand,  I  suppose,  is,  that  I  can  feel  for  him  what 
you  do — just  that,  and  no  more — or  more  of  that,  perhaps,  and 
nothing  else.  A  woman  can  be  a  man's  friend,  as  well  as  a  man 
can.  I  never  played  with  him — as  you  call  it — though  you  have 
enough  right  to  say  it.  I  told  him  from  the  first  that  I  could 
never  marry  him.  I  told  him  so  again  on  the  day  when  we  had 
first  fenced,  and  you  went  to  walk  after  the  rain." 

"  That  is  why  he  has  been  worse,  since  then.  It  began  that 
very  evening." 

"  Yes.  I  know  it.  Do  you  think  I  do  not  reproach  myself 
for  having  gone  so  far  that  I  had  to  speak  ?  Indeed,  indeed,  I 
do,  more  than  you  know.  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  He  cannot 
go  away,  ill  as  he  is.  I  cannot  leave  you  all  here.  And  then, 
I  would  not  leave  him,  if  I  could.  He  is  more  to  me  than  I 
can  ever  tell  you — I  would  give  my  right  hand  for  his  life. 
Would  you  have  me  marry  him,  knowing  that  I  can  never  love 
him  ?  Is  that  what  you  would  have  me  do  ?  " 

Taquisara  was  silent  for  a  moment,  looking  earnestly  at  her, 
and  he  bit  his  lip  a  little. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "that  is  what  you  should  do.  It  is  all  you 
can  do,  to  try  and  save  his  life." 

The  moment  he  had  spoken  he  turned  from  her  and  began  to 
walk  up  and  down  again. 


xxiv  TAQUISARA  283 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  asking  ?  "  Veronica  followed 
him  with  her  eyes. 

"It  is  a  sacrifice,"  he  said,  pursuing  his  walk  and  not 
glancing  at  her.  "  It  is  to  give  your  life  for  his.  I  know  it. 
But  you  can  hardly  give  him  more  than  he  has  given  you — or 
you  have  taken  from  him.  Yes — I  know  what  the  doctors  say, 
that  it  is  a  disease  which  is  known  and  understood.  No  doubt 
it  is.  But  diseases  of  that  sort  may  remain  latent  for  a  life 
time,  unless  something  determines  them.  Until  they  have 
gone  too  far,  they  may  be  overcome.  If  he  had  not  lived 
for  weeks  in  a  state  of  nervous  tension  that  would  almost 
make  a  strong  man  ill,  he  would  not  be  in  such  a  condition 
now.  If  he  had  never  known  you,  he  might  have  been  as 
well  as  he  ever  was — he  might  have  been  well  for  twenty 
or  thirty  years  before  it  attacked  him.  It  is  not  all  your 
fault,  but  a  part  of  it  is.  Take  your  friendship,  and  your 
mistakes  together — your  wish  that  he  may  live,  and  your 
responsibility  if  he  dies — two  motives  are  better  than  one, 
when  the  one  is  not  strong  enough.  You  have  two,  and  good 
ones.  Marry  him,  Donna  Veronica — marry  him  and  save  his 
life,  if  you  can,  and  your  own  remorse  if  he  dies.  Let  me  go 
to  him  now — he  is  not  asleep — let  me  tell  him  that  you  have 
changed  your  mind,  or  made  up  your  mind — that  you  love 
him,  after  all — " 

"  Please  do  not  go  on,"  said  Veronica,  drawing  back  a  little, 
till  she  leaned  against  the  mantelpiece. 

He  had  placed  himself  in  front  of  her  before  he  had  finished 
speaking.  He  was  excited,  vehement,  and  not  eloquent — like 
a  man  driven  to  bay  by  a  crowd  to  argue  a  question  in  which 
he  had  no  conviction,  but  which  concerns  his  life.  He  stopped 
speaking  when  she  interrupted  him,  and  he  seemed  to  be 
waiting  for  her  to  say  more.  She  had  drawn  herself  up  a  little 
proudly,  with  her  head  high. 

"You  hurt  me,"  she  said,  breaking  the  silence,  and  hardly 
knowing  why  she  said  the  words. 

"  Do  you  think  it  costs  me  nothing  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  low 
voice. 

His  eyes  burned  strangely  in  the  lamplight.  But  he  turned 
away  quickly,  to  resume  his  walk.  She  could  not  help  asking 
him  a  question. 

"  Why  should  it  cost  you  anything  ?  You  are  speaking  for 
your  friend — but  I — " 


284  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  it  seemed  to  her  selfish 
to  throw  her  right  to  happiness  into  the  scale  against  Gianluca's 
life.  But  she  could  not  understand  him. 

"It  is  hard  to  do,  for  all  that,"  he  answered,  indistinctly. 
"I  have  said  too  much,"  he  continued,  stopping  before  her. 
"  I  meant  to  do  the  best  I  could.  Perhaps  I  should  have  said 
nothing.  This  is  no  time  to  stop  at  trifles.  The  man  is 
dying,  and  I  have  a  right  to  say  that  I  believe  you  might  save 
his  life — and  a  right  to  beg  you  to  try.  You  have  the  right  to 
refuse,  to  question,  to  doubt — all  rights  that  are  a  woman's  in 
such  a  case.  As  for  me — there  is  no  question  of  me  in  all 
this.  Since  I  must  be  here  for  him,  since  I  have  displeased 
you  from  the  first,  since  you  do  not  like  me,  look  upon  me  as 
a  necessary  evil,  do  not  consider  my  existence,  think  of  me  as 
a  man  who  loves  your  best  friend  and  is  giving  all  he  has — to 
save  him." 

"  All  you  have,"  repeated  Veronica,  thoughtfully,  but  with 
out  a  question. 

"  Yes  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

The  single  word  was  spoken  with  a  sort  of  passion,  as 
though  it  meant  much  to  him.  She  liked  him  better  now  than 
when  he  walked  up  and  down,  giving  her  incoherent  advice. 
Whatever  he  might  mean,  it  was  something  which  had  power 
to  move  him. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  she  said.     "  I  like  you  very  much." 

"You — Princess  !"  His  surprise  was  genuine.  "You  have 
not  made  me  think  so,"  he  addedj  in  a  tone  of  wonder. 

"Nor  have  you  made  me  think  that  you  liked  me,"  she 
answered. 

"Gianluca  thought  I  did  not,"  said  Taquisara,  slowly,  as 
though  speaking  to  himself. 

Veronica  smiled. 

"  When  I  first  knew  you,  when  we  talked  together  at  the  villa 
on  that  morning  before  Christmas,  I  liked  you  better  than 
him,"  she  said. 

He  started  sharply. 

"Please — "  He  checked  himself  almost  before  the  one 
word  had  escaped  his  lips. 

"  Please — what  ?  "  she  asked,  naturally  enough. 

"  Nothing." 

His  face  quickened  as  he  walked  again,  and  she  watched 
him  curiously. 


xxiv  TAQUISARA  285 

"As  friends  of  one  friend,  we  must  be  friends,"  she  said, 
after  a  pause.  "  We  have  spoken  frankly  to-night,  both  of  us. 
It  is  much  better.  With  his  life  between  us  we  can  say  things, 
perhaps,  which  neither  of  us  would  have  said  before.  You  are 
doing  all  you  can.  You  ask  me  to  do  more  than  I  can — I 
think.  As  for  his  life — let  us  not  talk  of  what  may  happen.  I 
think  of  it  enough,  as  it  is." 

She  turned  as  she  spoke  the  last  words,  for  she  did  not 
trust  her  face.  But  he  heard  the  true  note  of  sorrow  in  her 
tone. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  love  him  a  little  ?  "  he  asked, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  answered,  mechanically,  as  though  hearing 
him  in  a  dream.  "  I  could  never  love  him." 

Then,  all  at  once  she  straightened  herself  and  left  the 
chimneypiece. 

"We  must  not  talk  of  these  things  any  more,"  she  said. 
"  Good  night.  We  understand  each  other,  do  we  not  ?  " 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  which  she  very  rarely  did. 
He  took  it  quietly. 

"  I  understand  you — yes,"  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  longer,  smiled  faintly,  and  then 
left  the  room.  After  she  was  gone,  he  sat  down  in  the  chair  she 
had  occupied,  crossed  one  knee  over  the  other,  folded  his  hands, 
and  stared  at  the  carpet.  He  sat  there  for  a  long  time,  motion 
less,  as  though  absorbed  in  the  study  of  a  difficult  problem. 
But  his  expression  did  not  change,  and  he  did  not  speak  aloud 
to  himself  as  some  men  do  when  they  are  alone  and  in  great 
trouble,  as  he  was  then.  He  was  not  a  man  of  theatrical 
instincts,  nor,  indeed,  of  any  great  imagination.  Least  of  all 
was  he  given  to  anything  like  self-examination,  or  arguing  with 
his  conscience.  He  was  exceedingly  simple  in  nature.  He 
either  loved  or  hated,  either  respected  or  was  indifferent  or 
despised  altogether,  with  no  half-measures  nor  compromises. 

Just  then  he  was  merely  revolving  the  situation  in  his  mind, 
and  trying  to  see  some  way  of  escaping  from  it,  without 
abandoning  his  friend.  But  no  way  occurred  to  him  which 
did  not  look  cowardly,  and  when  he  rose  from  his  seat,  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  face  his  troubles  as  well  as  he  could, 
since  he  could  not  avoid  them. 

He  went  to  Gianluca's  room  before  he  went  to  bed.  A  small 
light  burned  behind  a  shade  in  a  corner,  and  at  first  he  could 


286  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

barely  see  the  white  face  on  the  white  pillow.  The  sick  man 
lay  sound  asleep,  breathing  almost  inaudibly,  one  light  hand 
lying  upon  the  coverlet,  the  other  hidden.  Gradually,  as 
Taquisara  looked,  his  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  light, 
and  he  gazed  earnestly  at  his  sleeping  friend.  He  saw  the  dark 
rings  come  out  beneath  the  drooping  lids,  and  the  paleness 
of  the  parted  lips,  and  the  terrible  emaciation  of  the  thin  hand. 

But  there  was  life  still,  and  hope.  Hope  that  the  man  might 
still  live  and  stand  among  men,  hope  that  he  might  yet  marry 
Veronica  Serra — and  be  happy.  In  the  half-darkness,  Taquisara 
set  his  teeth,  biting  hard,  as  though  he  would  have  bitten  through 
iron,  lest  a  sharp  breath  should  escape  him  and  disturb  the 
sleeper's  rest. 

That  frail  thing,  that  ghost,  that  airy  remnant  of  a  man,  lay 
there,  alive  in  name,  between  Taquisara  and  the  mere  right  to 
think  of  his  own  happiness ;  and  next  to  the  reality  of  the 
shadow  of  his  dream,  he  loved  best  on  earth  this  shadow  of 
reality  that  would  not  die.  For  he  loved  Veronica  with  all  his 
heart,  and  after  her,  Gianluca  della  Spina.  Above  both  stood 
honour. 

He  knew  that  he  was  loyal  and  true  as  he  stood  there,  and 
that  there  was  not  in  the  inmost  inward  heart  of  him  a  mean, 
double-faced  wish  that  his  friend  might  die  there,  peacefully,  and 
leave  to  the  winning  of  the  strong  what  the  weak  had  wooed  in 
vain.  He  had  spoken  the  truth  when  he  had  said  that  for  his 
friend's  life  he  was  giving  all  he  had,  when  he  did  his  best 
to  persuade  Veronica  that  she  must  marry  the  dying  man,  in 
the  bare  hope  of  saving  him  while  there  was  yet  time.  He  had 
done  his  best,  though  it  was  no  wonder  that  there  was  no 
conviction,  but  only  vehemence,  in  his  tone.  It  had  .been 
different  on  that  day,  now  long  ago,  when  he  had  first  spoken 
for  Gianluca  in  the  garden.  He  had  not  loved  her  then.  She 
had  been  no  more  to  him  than  any  other  woman.  But  even  on 
that  day,  when  he  had  left  her,  he  had  half  guessed  that  he 
might  love  her  if  opportunity  gave  possibility  the  right  of  way. 
He  had  guessed  it,  and  even  to  guess  it  was  to  fear  it,  for 
Gianluca's  sake.  He  was  not  quixotic.  Had  he  been  first, 
death  or  life,  he  would  not  have  given  another  room  at  her 
side,  had  that  or  that  man  been  twenty  times  his  friend  or  his 
brother.  Even  if  it  had  been  a  little  otherwise,  if  Gianluca  had 
not  confided  in  him  from  the  beginning,  and  had  stood  out  as 
any  other  suitor  for  her  hand,  Taquisara,  as  he  loved  her  now, 


xxiv  TAQUISARA  287 

would  hardly  have  drawn  back  because  his  friend  had  been 
before  him.  But  Gianluca  had  come  to  him,  told  him  all, 
asked  his  advice,  taken  his  help — all  that,  when  Veronica  had 
still  been  nothing  to  Taquisara — less  than  nothing,  in  a  way, 
because  she  was  such  a  great  heiress,  and  he  would  have  hesi 
tated  before  asking  for  her  hand,  being  but  a  poor  Sicilian 
gentleman  of  good  repute,  few  acres,  and  old  blood. 

He  was  loyal  to  the  core  of  his  sound  soul.  Whatever 
became  of  him,  Gianluca  was  to  be  first  in  his  actions,  wherever 
Veronica  might  stand  in  his  heart,  and  he  had  the  strength  to 
do  all  that  he  meant  to  do.  He  would  do  it.  He  knew  that 
he  should  do  it,  and  he  was  glad,  for  his  honour,  that  he  could 
do  it. 

He  had  avoided  all  meetings,  as  much  as  possible,  from  the 
first,  going  rarely  to  Bianca's  house,  and  then  not  talking  with 
Veronica  when  he  could  help  it.  For  each  time  that  he  saw 
her,  he  felt  that  soft  mystery  of  attraction  in  which  great  passion 
begins ;  that  something  which  touches  and  draws  gently  on,  and 
presses  and  draws  again  more  gently,  yet  with  stronger  power, 
growing  great  on  nothings  by  day  and  night,  till  it  drives  the 
senses  slowly  mad,  and  overtops  the  soul,  and  pricks,  then 
goads,  then  drives — then,  at  the  last,  tears  men  up  like  straws  in 
its  enormous  arms,  rising  on  sudden  wings  to  outstrip  wind  and 
whirlwind  in  the  wild  race  that  ends  in  death  or  blinding  joy, 
or  reckless  ruin  of  honour,  worse  than  any  death. 

He  had  felt  the  growing  danger  at  every  one  of  their  few 
meetings,  and,  being  simple,  he  mistrusted  himself  to  be  what 
other  men  were.  But  in  that,  he  was  not  like  the  many.  He 
was  not  of  the  kind  and  temper  to  break  down  in  loyalty,  and 
he  could  still  bear  much  more.  Under  strong  pressure,  he  had 
come  with  Gianluca  to  the  gates  of  Muro,  and  he  had  done  his 
best  to  get  away  at  once.  Fate  had  been  against  him.  He  was 
still  strong,  and  could  face  fate  alone.  He  did  not  pine,  and 
waste  bodily,  as  Gianluca  had  done.  But  he  turned  his  eyes 
away  when  he  could,  and  spent  his  hours  out  of  danger  when 
he  might,  waiting  for  the  moment  when  he  should  be  free  to  go 
and  live  his  own  life  alone,  husbanding  the  strength  which  was 
not  lacking  in  him,  setting  his  teeth  hard  to  bear  the  pain — a 
simple,  brave,  and  loyal  man,  caught  in  fate's  grip,  but  silently 
unyielding  to  the  last. 

It  was  his  nature  to  suffer  without  complaint,  when  he  must 
suffer  at  all.  No  one  can  tell  whether  those  feel  pain  most 


288  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

who  show  least  what  they  feel.  The  measure  of  pain  is  always 
man,  and  no  man  can  really  be  measured  except  by  himself. 
We  often  believe  that  they  who  utter  no  cry  are  the  most  badly 
hurt,  perhaps  because  silence  has  suggestion  in  it,  and  noise 
has  none.  No  one  knows  the  truth.  No  one  has  stood  in  the 
fire  that  scorches  his  brother's  soul,  to  tell  us  which  can  suffer 
the  more. 

Taquisara  lay  long  awake  that  night,  and  every  word  that 
had  passed  between  Veronica  and  him  came  back  to  his 
thoughts. 

More  than  once  he  rose  and,  crossing  the  intermediate  room, 
went  to  Gianluca's  side.  Once  the  latter  was  awake,  still  half 
dreaming,  and  looked  up  wonderingly  into  his  friend's  eyes. 
He  scarcely  knew  that  he  spoke,  as  his  lips  moved. 

"  I  am  going  to  die,"  he  said,  in  a  far-off  tone. 

Taquisara  bent  over  him  quickly,  trying  to  smile. 

"  Nonsense — no — no  ! "  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  You  have 
been  dreaming — you  are  better." 

"Yes — I  am  dreaming — let  me  sleep,"  answered  the  sick 
man,  hardly  articulating  the  words. 

And  in  a  moment,  he  was  asleep  again.  Taquisara  listened 
to  his  breathing,  bending  down  a  moment  longer.  Then  he 
went  softly  away.  He  himself  slept  a  little,  but  it  seemed  long 
before  the  morning  broke. 

When  it  was  broad  daylight,  Gianluca  seemed  better,  for  the 
deep  sleep  had  refreshed  him.  It  was  still  very  early,  when  the 
professor  appeared  and  paid  him  a  long  visit,  asking  a  few 
questions  at  first  and  then  suddenly  beginning  to  talk  of 
politics  and  the  public  news.  Taquisara  left  the  room  with 
him,  and  they  stood  together  in  Gianluca's  sitting-room. 

"  He  is  better,  is  he  not  ?  "  asked  the  Sicilian,  eagerly. 

To  his  surprise  the  doctor  shook  his  head  and  was  silent  a 
long  time. 

"  I  know  nothing,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  Nobody  knows  any 
thing.  Surgery  is  a  fine  art,  but  medicine  is  witchcraft,  or 
little  better.  You  see,  I  speak  frankly.  I  can  only  give  you 
my  experience,  and  that  may  be  worth  something.  I  have 
seen  two  cases  of  this  kind  in  which,  when  the  change  came, 
the  patients  partially  recovered,  and  lived  for  several  years, 
paralyzed  downwards  from  the  point  in  the  spine  where  the 
disease  begins.  I  have  seen  several  cases  where  death  has 
resulted  rather  suddenly." 


xxiv  TAQUISARA  289 

"  And  do  you  see  a  change  coming  ?  " 

"  Yes.     It  has  begun  already.     Is  he  a  devout  man  ?  " 

"  A  religious  man,  at  all  events,"  answered  Taquisara,  gravely. 

"  Then,  if  he  wishes  to  see  a  priest,  it  would  be  as  well  to 
send  for  one  this  morning.  But  if  he  wishes  to  be  moved  as 
usual,  and  dressed,  let  him  have  his  way.  Do  not  frighten 
him,  if  you  can  help  it.  No  moral  shock  can  do  any  good.  I 
leave  it  to  you.  It  is  of  no  use  to  tell  his  father  and  mother. 
They  are  here,  and  you  will  see  if  he  is  worse.  I  suppose  you 
know  that  he  suffers  great  pain  when  he  is  moved  ?  " 

"No  ! "  said  Taquisara,  anxiously.  "  I  did  not  know  it.  I 
sometimes  hear  him  draw  his  breath  sharply  once  or  twice — 
but  he  never  complains.  I  thought  it  hurt  him  a  little." 

"  It  is  agony,"  said  the  doctor.  "  He  must  be  a  very  brave 
man." 

The  professor  seemed  much  impressed  by  what  Taquisara 
had  said. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

TAQUISARA  went  immediately  to  find  Don  Teodoro,  who  was 
generally  at  home  at  that  hour,  in  his  little  house  just  opposite 
the  castle  gate.  He  found  him  with  his  silver  spectacles 
pushed  up  to  the  top  of  his  head,  his  long  nose  buried  in  a 
musty  volume,  a  cup  of  untasted  coffee  at  his  elbow,  absorbed 
in  study.  The  small  room  was  filled  with  books,  old  and  new, 
and  smelt  of  them.  As  Taquisara  entered,  the  old  priest 
looked  up,  screwing  his  lids  together  in  the  attempt  to  recognize 
his  visitor  without  using  his  spectacles.  He  took  him  for  the 
syndic  of  Muro,  a  respectable  countryman  of  fifty  years,  come 
to  consult  with  him  about  some  public  matters. 

"  Be  seated,"  he  said.  "  If  you  will  pardon  me,  for  a 
moment — I  was  just — " 

In  an  instant  his  nose  almost  touched  the  page  again,  and 
he  did  not  complete  the  sentence,  before  he  was  lost  in  study 
once  more.  Taquisara  sat  down  upon  the  only  chair  there  was 
and  waited  a  few  moments,  not  realizing  that  he  had  not  been 
recognized.  But  the  priest  forgot  his  existence  immediately, 
and  if  not  disturbed  would  probably  have  gone  on  reading  till 
noon. 

T 


290  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Don  Teodoro  ! "  said  Taquisara,  rousing  him.  "  Pray 
excuse  me — " 

The  old  man  looked  up  suddenly,  with  an  exclamation  of 
surprise. 

"Dear  me!"  he  cried.  "Are  you  there,  Baron?  I  beg  your 
pardon.  I  think  I  took  you  for  some  one  else." 

He  drew  his  spectacles  down  to  the  level  of  his  eyes,  and  let 
the  big  book  fall  back  upon  the  table. 

"  Our  friend  is  very  ill,"  said  Taquisara,  gravely.  "That  is 
why  I  have  come  to  disturb  you." 

He  told  the  priest  what  the  doctor  had  said  about  Gianluca's 
.condition.  Don  Teodoro  listened  with  an  expression  of  concern 
and  anxiety,  for  he  had  become  fond  of  the  sick  man  during 
the  past  weeks,  and  Gianluca  liked  him,  too.  Almost  every  day 
they  talked  together,  and  the  refined  taste  and  sincere  love  of 
literature  of  the  younger  man  delighted  in  the  profound  learning 
of  the  old  student,  while  the  latter  found  a  rare  pleasure  in 
speaking  of  his  favourite  occupations  to  such  an  appreciative 
listener. 

"The  fact  is,"  Taquisara  concluded,  "though  I  have  not  much 
faith  in  doctors,  I  really  believe  that  he  may  die  at  any  moment. 
You  know  what  kind  of  man  he  is.  Go  and  sit  with  him  after 
luncheon  to-day — or  before — the  sooner,  the  better.  Do  not 
frighten  him — do  not  tell  him  that  I  have  spoken  to  you  about 
his  condition.  I  believe  that  he  knows  it  himself,  and  if  he  is 
alone  with  you  for  some  time,  and  you  speak  of  the  uncertainty 
of  life,  as  a  priest  can,  he  will  probably  himself  propose  to  make 
his  confession.  You  understand  those  things,  Don  Teodoro — 
it  is  your  business.  It  is  our  business  to  give  you  a  chance." 

"Yes — yes,"  answered  the  old  man.  "I  daresay  you  are 
right.  I  suppose  that  is  what  I  should  do."  There  was  a 
reluctance  in  his  voice  which  surprised  Taquisara. 

"  You  do  not  seem  convinced,"  said  the  latter. 

"I  wish  there  were  another  priest  here,"  replied  Don  Teodoro, 
thoughtfully,  and  his  clear  eyes  looked  away,  avoiding  the 
other's  direct  glance. 

"  Why  ?  "  inquired  the  Sicilian,  with  increasing  astonishment. 

"  It  is  a  painful  office  to  perform  for  a  friend."  The  curate 
looked  down  now,  and  fingered  the  corner  of  his  old  book,  in 
evident  hesitation.  "  It  is  quite  another  thing  to  assist  the  poor." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Taquisara.  "  I  suppose 
that  priests  have  especial  sensibilities  of  their  own — " 


xxv  TAQUISARA  291 

"  Sometimes — sometimes,"  interrupted  Don  Teodoro,  as 
though  speaking  to  himself.  "  Yes — I  have  especial  sensi 
bilities." 

"  It  cannot  be  helped,"  answered  Taquisara,  in  a  tone  that 
had  something  of  authority  in  it.  "  Of  course  we  laymen  do 
not  appreciate  those  nice  questions.  A  man  is  dying.  He 
wants  a  priest.  It  is  your  place  to  go  to  him,  whether  he  is 
your  own  father,  or  a  swineherd.  You  are  alone  here,  and  you 
have  no  choice." 

"Yes,  I  am  alone.  I  wish  I  were  not.  I  wish  that  the 
princess  would  get  me  an  assistant." 

"  It  will  be  best  if  you  come  to  the  castle  in  about  an  hour," 
said  Taquisara,  paying  no  attention  to  Don  Teodoro's  last 
remark.  "  By  that  time  Gianluca  will  be  in  his  sitting-room, 
and  I  shall  be  with  him.  The  Duca  and  Duchessa  will  be  out 
for  their  walk,  for  the  weather  is  cool  and  fine,  and  they  do  not 
know  of  his  imminent  danger.  Come  in  without  warning,  as 
though  you  had  just  come  to  pay  him  a  visit  of  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  You  have  done  the  same  thing  before.  I  will  go  away 
after  five  minutes  and  leave  you  together.  Donna  Veronica 
will  not  interrupt  you." 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  priest,  in  a  tone  that  was  still 
reluctant.  "  If  it  must  be,  it  must  be." 

Taquisara  looked  at  him  curiously  and  went  away  to  arrange 
matters  as  he  proposed.  But  Don  Teodoro,  though  he  wore  his 
spectacles,  with  the  help  of  which  he  really  could  see  very  well, 
did  not  notice  the  young  man's  glance  of  curiosity,  as  he  went 
with  him  to  the  door,  and  carefully  fastened  it  after  him,  which 
was  an  unusual  proceeding  on  his  part;  for  though  he  lived 
quite  alone,  the  poor  people  never  found  that  door  locked  by 
day  or  night.  An  old  woman  came  every  day  to  do  the  little 
household  work  that  was  necessary,  and  to  cook  something  for 
him,  when  he  ate  at  home.  But  to-day,  for  once,  he  drew  the 
rusty  old  bolt  across,  before  he  went  back  to  his  study.  He  did 
nothing  which  could  seem  to  have  justified  the  precaution,  after 
he  had  sat  down  again  in  his  big  wooden  easy-chair ;  and  if  the 
door  had  been  wide  open,  and  if  any  one  had  come  in  without 
warning,  the  visitor  would  have  found  the  priest  before  the 
table,  slowly  lifting  one  long,  bent  shank  of  his  silver  spectacles 
and  letting  it  fall  upon  the  other,  in  a  slow  and  absent-minded 
fashion  to  which  no  one  could  have  attached  any  especial 
importance.  People  who  have  kept  a  secret  very  long  and  well, 


292  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

keep  it  when  they  are  alone,  even  when  it  turns  its  bones  in  the 
narrow  grave  of  their  hearts,  reminding  them  that  it  is  there 
and  would  be  glad  to  see  if  it  could  get  a  vampire's  dead  life 
for  a  night,  and  come  out,  and  draw  blood. 

Taquisara  went  away  and  re-entered  the  castle,  walking  more 
slowly  than  was  his  wont.  In  the  narrow  court  within,  he 
stopped  before  passing  through  the  door,  and  stood  a  long  time 
staring  at  a  fragment  of  a  marble  tablet  with  a  part  of  a  Roman 
inscription  cut  on  it,  which  was  built  into  the  enormous 
masonry  of  the  main  wall  and  had  remained  white  while  the 
surrounding  blocks  had  grown  black  with  age.  There  was  no 
more  apparent  reason  why  he  should  try  to  make  out  the 
meaning  of  the  inscription,  than  why  Don  Teodoro  should  play 
so  long  with  his  glasses,  all  alone  in  his  room.  But  Taquisara 
was  not  thinking  of  Don  Teodoro.  He  had  a  secret  of  his  own 
to  keep  from  everybody,  and  if  possible  from  himself. 

But  that  was  not  easy.  The  thing  which  had  taken  hold  of 
him  was  as  strong  as  he  was  and  seemed  to  be  watching  him, 
grip  for  grip,  hold  for  hold,  wrench  for  wrench.  It  had  not 
beaten  him  yet,  but  he  knew  that  to  yield  a  hair's  breadth  would 
mean  a  fall,  and  a  bad  one.  He  had  almost  relaxed  his  strength 
that  little,  last  night,  when  he  had  been  alone  with  Veronica. 

He  read  the  letters  of  the  inscription  over  twenty  times,  then 
turned  sharply  on  his  heel  and  went  in,  having  probably  con 
vinced  himself  that  to  waste  time  over  his  own  thoughts  was  the 
worst  waste  imaginable,  since  the  more  he  thought  of  anything, 
the  more  he  loved  Veronica.  And  he  had  set  himself  to  arrange 
the  meeting  between  Gianluca  and  Don  Teodoro,  and  each 
hour  was  precious. 

His  face  helped  him,  for  he  did  not  easily  betray  emotion ; 
he  rarely  changed  colour  at  all,  and  was  not  a  man  of  mobile 
features.  But  he  had  grown  thinner  since  he  had  been  in 
Muro,  and  the  clearly  cut  curves  that  marked  the  Saracen  strain 
in  him  were  sharper  and  more  denned. 

He  went  in  and  met  Veronica  in  the  large  room  in  which 
they  usually  fenced,  and  which  lay  between  what  was  really  the 
drawing-room  and  the  apartment  set  aside  for  Gianluca  and 
Taquisara.  She  was  standing  alone  beside  the  table,  her  face 
very  white,  and  as  she  turned  to  Taquisara,  he  saw  something 
desperate  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  seen  the  doctor  again,"  she  said,  not  waiting  for 
any  greeting,  and  knowing  that  he  would  understand. 


XXV  TAQUISARA  293 

"  And  I  have  seen  the  priest,"  answered  Taquisara. 

She  started,  and  pressed  her  lips  tightly  to  suppress  something. 
Her  eyes  wandered  slowly  and  then  came  back  to  the  Sicilian 
before  she  spoke. 

"  You  have  done  right,"  she  said,  and  then  paused  a  second. 
"  He  is  going  to  die  to-day,"  she  added,  very  low. 

"That  is  not  sure,"  replied  Taquisara.  "The  doctor  says 
that  he  has  known  cases — " 

"  No,"  interrupted  Veronica.     "  I  know  it — I  feel  it." 

She  was  resting  one  hand  on  the  heavy  table,  and  as  she 
spoke  she  bent  down,  as  though  bowed  in  bodily  pain.  Taqui 
sara  saw  the  sharp  lines  in  the  smooth  young  forehead,  and  his 
teeth  bit  hard  on  one  another  as  he  watched  her.  He  could 
not  speak.  With  a  quick-drawn  breath  she  straightened  herself 
suddenly  and  looked  at  him  again.  He  thought  he  saw  the 
very  slightest  moisture,  not  in  her  eyes,  but  on  the  lower  lids 
and  just  below  them.  It  was  very  hard  to  shed  tears,  and  not 
like  her. 

"  Hope  ! "  he  said,  gently. 

During  what  seemed  a  long  time  they  stood  looking  at  each 
other  with  unchanging  faces,  and  neither  spoke.  Some  people 
know  that  dead  silence  which  descends  while  fate's  great  hand  is 
working  in  the  dark,  and  men  hold  their  breath  and  shut  their 
eyes,  listening  speechless  for  the  dull  footfall  of  near  destiny. 

At  last  Veronica,  without  a  word,  turned  from  the  table  and 
went  slowly  towards  a  door.  Taquisara  did  not  move.  When 
her  hand  was  on  the  lock,  she  turned  her  head. 

"  Stand  by  me,  whatever  I  do  to-day,"  she  said,  earnestly. 

"  Yes.     I  will." 

He  did  not  find  any  eloquent  words  nor  oaths  of  protest,  but 
she  saw  his  face  and  believed  him.  She  bent  her  head  once,  as 
though  acknowledging  his  promise,  and  she  went  out  quietly, 
closing  the  door  behind  her. 

Some  minutes  passed  before  Taquisara  also  left  the  room  in 
the  other  direction.  He  wondered  why  she  had  said  those  last 
words,  for  he  had  seen  again  that  desperate  look  in  her  face  and 
did  not  understand  it.  Perhaps  she  meant  to  marry  Gianluca 
before  he  died,  and  at  the  thought  Taquisara  felt  as  though  a 
strong  man  had  struck  him  a  heavy  blow  just  on  his  heart,  and 
for  one  instant  he  steadied  himself  by  the  table  and  swallowed 
hard,  as  though  the  breath  were  out  of  him.  It  did  not  last  a 
moment.  Then  he,  too,  went  out,  to  go  to  his  friend. 


294  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Gianluca  was  gentle,  quiet,  almost  cheerful,  on  that  morning. 
He  had  evidently  forgotten  that  he  had  opened  his  eyes  and 
seen  Taquisara  standing  by  his  bedside  in  the  night,  nor  would 
he  have  thought  anything  of  so  common  an  occurrence  had  it 
come  back  to  his  recollection.  He  certainly  did  not  remember 
having  spoken  of  dying.  But  he  was  very  weak,  and  his  face 
was  deadly  pale,  rather  than  transparent,  as  it  usually  seemed. 

Taquisara  had  thought  of  what  the  doctor  had  said  about  his 
sufferings,  and  hesitated  before  lifting  him  to  carry  him  to  the 
next  room. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "does  it  hurt  you  very  much  when  I 
take  you  up  ?  " 

"  It  hurts,"  answered  Gianluca,  with  a  smile.  "  Hurting 
is  relative,  you  know.  I  can  bear  it  very  well.  There  are 
things  that  hurt  more." 

"  What  ?     When  you  try  to  move  alone  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  Imaginary  things.  You  hurt  me  very  little — you 
are  so  careful.  What  should  I  have  done  without  you  ?  " 

Taquisara  had  never  touched  him  so  tenderly  before,  though 
he  was  always  as  gentle  as  a  woman  with  him.  He  lifted  him, 
carried  him  from  his  bedroom  and  laid  him  in  his  accustomed 
chair.  The  pale  head  rested  with  a  sigh  upon  the  brown  silk 
cushion. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  faintly.  "  That  was  better  than  ever. 
But  I  am  better  to-day,  too." 

The  Sicilian  said  nothing,  but  proceeded  to  arrange  all  the 
invalid's  small  belongings  near  him, — his  books,  his  cigarettes, 
— for  he  sometimes  smoked  a  little, — and  the  stimulant  he 
took,  and  a  few  wild  flowers  which  Elettra  renewed  every 
morning.  Gianluca  drew  a  breath  of  satisfaction  when  all  was 
done.  He  really  felt  a  little  better,  and  by  Taquisara's  care 
had  suffered  less  than  usual  in  the  moving.  His  father  and 
mother  had  been  in  to  see  him  as  usual,  before  he  was  up,  and 
before  they  went  out  for  their  daily  walk.  Veronica  would  not 
come  yet,  but  he  had  the  true  invalid's  pleasure  in  anticipating 
the  coming  of  a  well-loved  woman.  As  often  happens  in  such 
cases  he  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  his  approaching  danger. 

He  was  not  surprised  when  Don  Teodoro  came  in,  a  little 
later,  and  the  two  very  soon  fell  into  conversation  together. 
Taquisara  presently  went  away  and  left  them,  as  he  often  did 
when  they  began  to  talk  of  books.  Half  an  hour  had  not 
passed  since  his  meeting  with  Veronica,  but  as  he  again  entered 


XXV  TAQUISARA  295 

the  room  where  they  had  met,  he  found  her  standing  before  the 
window,  looking  out,  and  twisting  her  handkerchief  slowly  with 
both  her  hands.  She  started  when  she  heard  him  come  in,  and 
she  turned  her  head  to  see  who  it  was  that  had  opened  the 
door.  To  go  on,  he  had  to  pass  near  her,  and  she  kept  her 
eyes  on  his  face  as  he  approached  her. 

"  How  is  he  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  voice  hardly  recognizable  as 
her  own. 

She  had  an  agonized  look,  and  she  raised  her  handkerchief 
to  her  mouth  quickly,  and  held  it,  almost  biting  it,  while  he 
answered  her. 

"  He  says  that  he  feels  better.  Don  Teodoro  is  there.  He 
has  just  come.  Is  there  anything  that  I  can  do  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  still  holding  the  handkerchief  to  her  lips, 
and  again  looked  out  of  the  window.  He  waited  a  moment 
longer  and  then  passed  on,  leaving  her  alone.  He  saw  that 
she  was  half  mad  with  anxiety,  and  he  neither  trusted  himself 
to  speak,  nor  believed  that  speaking  could  be  of  any  use.  He 
went  down  to  the  lower  bastion,  where  he  could  be  alone,  and 
for  a  long  time  he  walked  steadily  up  and  down,  trying  hard  to 
think  of  nothing,  and  sometimes  counting  his  steps  as  he 
walked,  in  order  to  keep  his  mind  from  itself. 

He  did  not  idealize  the  woman  he  loved,  for  he  was  not  a 
man  of  ideals,  nor  of  much  imagination.  Such  defects  as  she 
might  have,  he  did  not  see,  and  if  he  had  seen  them  he  would 
have  been  indifferent  to  them.  To  such  a  man,  loving  meant 
everything  and  admitted  of  no  comment,  because  there  was  no 
part  of  him  left  free  to  judge.  He  was  a  whole-souled  man, 
who  asked  no  questions  of  himself  and  no  advice  of  others. 
He  had  never  needed  counsel,  in  his  own  opinion,  and  for  the 
rest,  what  he  felt  was  himself  and  not  a  secondary,  dual  being 
of  separate  passions  and  impressions  which  he  could  analyze 
and  examine.  He  had  never  comprehended  that  strange 
machine  of  nicely-balanced  doubts  and  certainties,  forever  in  a 
state  of  half-morbid  equilibrium  between  the  wish,  the  thought, 
and  the  deed — such  a  man  as  Pietro  Ghisleri  was,  for  instance, 
who  would  refuse  a  beggar  an  alms  lest  the  giving  should  be  a 
satisfaction  to  his  own  vanity,  and  then,  perhaps,  would  turn 
back  in  pity  and  give  the  poor  wretch  half  a  handful  of  silver. 
When  Taquisara  once  knew  that  he  loved  Veronica,  he  never 
reverted  to  a  state  of  doubt.  He  fought  against  it,  because  his 
friend  had  loved  her  first,  and  rooting  himself  where  he  stood, 


296  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

as  it  were,  he  would  have  let  the  passion  tear  him  piecemeal 
rather  than  be  moved  by  it.  But  he  never  had  the  smallest 
doubt  as  to  what  the  passion  was  in  itself  and  might  be,  in  its 
consequences,  if  he  should  be  weak  for  one  moment.  Simple 
struggles,  when  they  are  for  life  and  death,  are  more  terrible 
than  any  complicated  conflict  can  possibly  be. 

Don  Teodoro  was  a  long  time  alone  with  Gianluca.  What 
ever  reasons  he  had  of  his  own  for  not  wishing  to  comply  with 
Taquisara's  request,  he  overcame  them  and  faithfully  carried 
out  the  mission  imposed  upon  him.  In  itself  it  was  no  very 
hard  one.  Gianluca  was  a  religious  man,  as  Taquisara  had 
said  that  he  was,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  very  ill,  though 
he  did  not  believe  himself  to  be  dying.  With  his  character  and 
in  his  condition,  he  was  glad  to  talk  seriously  with  such  a  man 
as  Don  Teodoro,  and  then  to  lay  before  him  the  account  of  his 
few  shortcomings  according  to  the  practice  of  his  belief. 

The  old  priest  came  out  at  last,  grave  and  bent,  and,  going 
through  the  rooms,  he  came  upon  Veronica  standing  alone 
where  Taquisara  had  left  her.  She  did  not  know  how  long  she 
had  stood  there,  waiting  for  him.  He  paused  before  her,  and 
her  eyes  questioned  him. 

"  He  wishes  to  see  you,"  he  said,  simply. 

"  How  is  he  ? "  He  had  not  understood  her  unspoken 
question.  "  How  is  he  ? "  she  repeated,  as  he  hesitated  a 
moment. 

"To  me  he  seems  no  worse.  He  says  that  he  feels  better 
to-day.  But  there  is  something,  some  change — something,  I 
cannot  tell  what  it  is,  since  I  last  saw  him." 

"  Stay  here — please  stay  in  the  house  ! "  said  Veronica.  "  He 
may  need  you." 

While  she  was  speaking  she  had  gone  to  the  door,  and  she 
went  out  without  looking  back.  A  moment  later,  she  was  by 
Gianluca's  side.  She  saw  that  what  Don  Teodoro  had  said  was 
true.  There  was  an  undefmable  change  in  his  features  since 
the  previous  day,  and  at  the  first  sight  of  it  her  heart  stood  still 
an  instant  and  the  blood  left  her  face,  so  that  she  felt  very  cold. 
She  kept  her  back  to  the  light,  that  he  might  not  see  that  she 
was  disturbed,  and  while  she  asked  him  how  he  was,  her  hands 
touched,  and  displaced,  and  replaced  the  little  objects  on  the 
small  table  beside  him, — the  book,  the  glass,  the  flowers  in  the 
silver  cup,  the  silver  cigarette  case,  the  things  which,  being 
quite  helpless,  he  liked  to  have  within  his  reach. 


XXV  TAQUISARA  297 

"  I  really  feel  better  to-day,"  he  said,  watching  her  lovingly, 
as  he  answered  her  question.  "  I  wish  I  could  go  out." 

"  You  can  be  carried  out  upon  the  balcony  in  a  little  while," 
she  said.  "It  is  too  cool,  yet.  It  was  a  cold  night,  for  we 
are  getting  near  the  end  of  August." 

"And  in  Naples  they  are  sweltering  in  the  heat,"  he  an 
swered,  smiling.  "  It  is  beautiful  here.  I  can  see  the  moun 
tains  through  the  open  window,  and  the  flowers  tell  me  what 
the  hillsides  are  like,  in  the  sunshine.  Taquisara  says  that 
your  maid  brings  them  every  morning.  Thank  you — of  course 
it  is  one  of  your  endless  kind  doings." 

"  No,"  replied  Veronica,  frankly.  "  It  is  her  way  of  showing 
her  devotion,  poor  thing !  Everybody  loves  you  in  the  house 
— even  the  people  who  have  hardly  ever  seen  you.  The  women 
speak  of  you  as  '  that  angel ' ! "  She  tried  to  laugh  cheerfully. 

"  I  am  glad  they  like  me,  though  I  have  done  nothing  to  be 
liked  by  them.  Please  thank  your  maid  for  me.  It  is  very 
kind  of  her." 

There  was  a  little  disappointment  in  his  voice ;  for  he  had 
been  happy  in  believing  that  Veronica  sent  the  flowers  herself, 
not  because  he  needed  coin  of  kindness  to  prove  her  wealth  of 
friendship,  but  because  whatever  small  thing  came  from  her 
hand  had  so  much  more  value  for  him  than  the  greatest  and 
most  that  any  one  else  could  give. 

She  sat  down  beside  him,  and  endeavoured  to  talk  as  though 
she  were  quite  unconcerned.  She  tried  not  to  look  at  his  face, 
upon  which  it  seemed  to  her  that  death  was  already  fixing  the 
last  mask  of  life's  comedy.  It  was  the  more  terrible,  because 
he  was  so  quiet  and  so  sure  of  life  that  morning,  so  convinced 
that  he  was  better,  so  almost  certain  that  he  should  get  well. 

It  seemed  an  awful  thing  to  sit  there,  talking  against  death ; 
but  she  did  her  best  not  to  think,  and  only  to  talk  and  talk  on, 
and  make  him  believe  that  she  was  cheerful,  while,  in  a  kind 
way,  she  kept  him  from  coming  back  to  within  a  phrase's  length 
of  his  love  for  her.  It  was  hard  for  him,  too,  to  make  any 
effort.  The  doctor  had  said  so.  And  all  the  time,  she  fancied 
that  his  features  became  by  degrees  less  mobile,  and  that  the 
transparent  pallor  so  long  familiar  to  her  was  turning  to 
another  hue,  grey  and  stony,  which  she  had  never  seen. 

Suddenly,  while  she  was  speaking  of  some  indifferent  thing, 
his  eyelids  closed  and  twitched,  and  his  hand  went  out  towards 
hers,  almost  spasmodically.  She  caught  it  and  held  it,  bending 


298  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

far  forward,  and  again  her  heart  stood  still  till  she  missed  its 
beating. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  staring  into  his  face,  and  already 
half  wild  with  fear. 

He  could  shake  his  head  feebly,  but  for  a  moment  he  could 
not  speak.  With  one  of  her  hands  she  still  held  his,  and  with 
the  other  she  pressed  his  brow.  He  smiled,  as  in  a  spasm, 
and  then  his  face  was  a  little  distorted.  She  felt  his  life 
slipping  from  her,  under  her  very  touch,  as  though  it  were  her 
fault  because  she  would  not  hold  it  and  keep  it  for  him. 

"  Gianluca  ! "  she  cried,  repeating  his  name  in  an  agonized 
tone.  "  Gianluca  !  You  must  not  die  !  I  am  here — " 

He  opened  his  eyes,  and  the  faint  smile  came  back,  but 
without  a  spasm  this  time. 

"  It  was  a  little  pain,"  he  said.  "  I  am  sorry — it  frightened 
you." 

* '  Thank  God !"  she  exclaimed,  still  bending  over  him.  "  Oh — 
I  thought  you  were  gone  ! " 

"  Your  voice — would  bring  me  back — Veronica,"  he  said,  with 
many  little  efforts,  word  by  word,  but  with  life  in  his  face. 

She  moved,  and  held  the  glass  to  his  lips.  Bravely  he  lifted 
his  hand,  and  tried  to  hold  it  himself.  He  drank  a  little  of 
the  stimulant,  and  then  his  pale  head  sank  back,  with  the  short, 
fair  hair  about  his  forehead,  like  a  glory. 

"  Ah  yes ! "  he  said,  speaking  more  easily,  a  moment  later. 
"Death  could  never  be  so  near  but  that  you  might  stand 
between  him  and  me — if  you  would,"  he  added,  so  softly  that 
the  three  words  just  reached  her  ears,  as  the  far  echo  of  sad 
music,  full  of  beseeching  tenderness. 

Still  she  held  his  hand,  and  gazed  down  into  his  face.  They 
had  told  her  long  ago  that  he  was  dying  of  love  for  her.  In 
that  moment  she  believed  it  true.  He  seemed  to  tell  her  so,  to 
be  telling  it  with  his  last  breath.  And  each  breath  might  be 
the  last.  Science  could  not  save  him.  Physicians  disagreed — 
the  great  authority  himself  could  not  say  whether  he  was  to  live 
or  die.  He  fainted,  fell  back,  seemed  dead  already,  and  her 
voice  and  touch  brought  him  to  life,  happy  for  an  instant, 
hoping  still  and  living  only  by  the  beating  of  hope's  wings. 
And  with  all  that,  though  she  did  not  love  him,  he  was  to  her 
the  dearest  of  all  living  beings.  Holding  his  hand  still,  she 
looked  upward,  as  though  to  be  alone  with  herself  for  one 
breathing  space.  But  as  she  stood  there,  she  pressed  his  fingers 


XXV  TAQUISARA  299 

little  by  little  more  tightly,  not  knowing  what  she  did,  so  that 
he  wondered. 

Then  she  bent  down  again,  and  steadily  gazed  into  the 
upturned  blue  eyes,  and  once  more  smoothed  away  the  fair 
hair  from  the  pallid  brow. 

"  Do  you  wish  it  very  much  ?  "  she  asked,  simply. 

Half  paralyzed  though  he  was,  he  started,  and  the  light  that 
came  suddenly  to  his  face,  wavered  and  sank  and  rose  once 
more.  She  seemed  to  hear  his  words  again,  saying  that  she 
could  stand  between  death  and  him,  were  death  ever  so  near. 

"You?"  he  faltered.  "Wish  for  you?  Ah  God !  Vero 
nica — "  his  face  grew  dead  again.  "  No — no — I  did  not 
understand — " 

"  But  I  mean  it ! "  she  said,  in  desperate,  low  tones,  for  she 
thought  he  was  sinking  back.  "  I  will  marry  you,  Gianluca ! 
I  will,  dear — I  will — I  am  in  earnest ! " 

Slowly  his  eyes  opened  again  and  looked  at  her,  wide, 
startled,  and  half  blind  with  joy.  So  the  leader  looks  who, 
stunned  to  death  between  the  door-posts  of  the  hard-won  gate, 
wakes  unhurt  to  life  in  the  tide  of  the  victory  he  led,  and  hears 
the  strong  music  of  triumph,  and  the  huge  shout  of  brave  men 
whose  bursting  throats  cry  out  his  name  for  very  glory's  sake, 
their  own  and  his. 

Gianluca's  eyes  opened,  and  with  sudden  pressure  he  grasped 
the  hand  that  had  so  long  held  his,  believing  because  he  held 
it  and  felt  the  flesh  and  blood  and  the  warmth  in  his  own 
shadowy  hold. 

"  Veronica — love  !  "  She  would  not  have  thought  that  he 
could  press  her  fingers  so  hard,  weak  as  he  was. 

The  word  smote  her,  even  then,  with  a  small  icy  chill,  and 
though  she  smiled,  there  was  a  shadow  in  her  face.  Again  he 
doubted. 

"  Veronica — for  the  love  of  God — you  are  not  deceiving  me, 
to  save  my  life  ?  "  The  vision  of  despair  rose  in  his  eyes. 

"Deceive  you?  I?"  she  cried,  with  sudden  energy. 
"  Indeed,  indeed,  I  mean  it,  as  I  said  it" 

"Yes — but — but  if,  to-morrow — "  Again  his  voice  was 
failing,  and  she  was  hand  to  hand  with  death,  for  him. 

"No !  There  shall  be  no  to-morrow  for  that — it  shall  be  now!" 

"Now?     To-day?     Now?" 

He  seemed  to  rise  and  sink,  and  sink  and  rise  again,  on  the 
low-surging  waves  of  his  life's  ebbing  tide. 


300  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  Yes — now  ! "  she  answered.  "  This  moment.  Don  Teo- 
doro  is  in  the  house — I  will  call  him — let  me  go  for  a  moment 
— only  one  moment !  " 

"  No — no  !  Do  not  leave  me  ! "  He  clung  frantically  to 
her  hand.  "  But — yes — call  him — call  him  !  And  Taquisara. 
He  is  my  friend — Oh  !  It  kills  me  to  let  you  go  ! " 

It  was  indeed  the  very  supreme  moment.  The  great  burst 
of  happiness  had  almost  killed  him,  and  he  was  like  a  child, 
not  knowing  what  he  wanted.  Still  he  clutched  her  hand.  A 
quick  thought  crossed  her  mind.  She  had  gone  to  the  window 
for  a  moment,  to  fasten  it  back,  and  had  seen  Taquisara  walk 
ing  under  the  vines.  He  might  be  there. 

"  Let  me  go  to  the  window,"  she  said,  regaining  her  self- 
possession.  "Taquisara  may  be  on  the  bastion — I  saw  him 
there.  He  will  call  Don  Teodoro,  and  I  shall  not  have  to  leave 
you." 

Any  reasoning  which  kept  her  by  his  side  was  divinely  good. 
Her  words  calmed  him  a  little,  and  his  hands  gradually  loosened 
themselves.  But  as  she  turned  quickly,  he  uttered  a  very  low 
cry,  and  tried  to  catch  her  skirt.  She  did  not  hear  him.  She 
was  already  speaking  from  the  window;  for  the  Sicilian  was 
still  there,  walking  up  and  down,  as  he  had  done  for  more  than 
an  hour.  She  called  to  him.  He  started,  and  looked  up 
through  the  broad  leaves. 

"  Get  Don  Teodoro  at  once,  and  bring  him,"  she  cried.  "He 
is  in  the  house — somewhere." 

Taquisara  thought  that  Gianluca  was  dying,  and  neither 
paused  nor  answered,  as  he  disappeared  within. 

Veronica  came  back  instantly.  She  had  not  been  gone  thirty 
seconds,  but  already  the  sick  man's  face  was  grey  again,  though 
his  eyes  were  wide  and  staring.  His  head  had  fallen  to  one 
side,  on  the  brown  silk  cushion,  in  his  last  attempt  to  reach  her. 
With  both  hands,  she  raised  him  a  little,  so  that  he  lay  straight 
again. 

"  They  are  coming — they  are  coming,  dear  one  ! "  she  re 
peated.  "  Live,  live  !  Gianluca — live,  for  me  ! " 

In  her  agony  of  fighting  for  his  life,  she  pushed  his  hair  back, 
and  pressed  her  lips  in  one  long  kiss  upon  his  forehead.  A 
shiver  ran  through  him,  and  the  sense  came  back  to  his  eyes. 
But  though  she  held  his  hand,  there  was  no  more  strength  in  it 
to  grasp  hers.  He  sighed  the  words  she  heard. 

"  Love— is  it  you  ?    Veronica — love — life  !    Ah,  Christ !  " 


xxv  TAQUISARA  301 

And  his  lids  closed  again.  The  door  opened,  and  was  shut, 
and  Veronica  half  turned  her  head  to  see,  but  she  brought  her 
face  tenderly  nearer  to  his,  as  though  to  let  him  know  that  it 
was  for  his  sake  she  looked  away.  Don  Teodoro  and  Taquisara 
were  both  in  the  room.  Even  before  she  spoke,  she  had 
changed  her  hold  upon  Gianluca's  fingers,  and  held  his  right 
hand  in  hers,  as  those  hold  hands  who  are  to  be  wedded. 

"  Bless  us  ! "  she  said  to  the  priest.  "  This  is  our  marriage  ! 
Say  the  words — quickly  ! " 

Taquisara's  face  was  livid,  for  he  had  as  much  of  instant 
death  in  him  as  the  dying  man,  though  he  could  not  die.  But 
he  did  not  fail.  He  came  and  knelt  on  the  other  side  of  the 
couch,  away  from  Veronica.  The  priest  stood  at  the  foot,  in 
pale  hesitation.  Veronica's  eyes  commanded. 

"  Speak  quickly  ! "  she  said.  "  I  will  marry  him — I  have 
said  it !  Gianluca — say  it — say  that  you  will  marry  me  ! " 

Holding  his  right  hand,  with  her  left  thrust  under  his  pillow 
she  lifted  him  so  that  he  sat  almost  upright.  It  needed  all  her 
strength,  and  she  was  very  desperate  for  him. 

"  Volo ! "  The  one  word  floated  on  the  air,  breathed,  not 
spoken,  and  dead  silence  followed. 

Again  Veronica  turned  to  Don  Teodoro. 

"  Say  the  words.  I  command  you  !  I  have  the  right — I  am 
free ! " 

The  priest's  face  was  white  now.  He  stretched  out  his  arms, 
lifting  his  eyes  upwards. 

A  worse  change  was  in  Gianluca's  face  before  Don  Teodoro 
had  spoken  the  words  he  had  to  say.  Taquisara  saw  it.  Both 
he  and  Veronica  bent  over  the  motionless  head.  Still  Veronica 
held  the  cold  hand  in  hers.  Taquisara  knew  that  in  another 
instant  the  priest  would  speak.  Gently,  with  womanly  tender 
ness,  though  his  soul  was  on  the  wheel  of  anguish,  he  took 
Veronica's  right  hand  and  loosed  it,  and  Gianluca's  fell  cold 
and  motionless  from  her  fingers. 

"  He  is  gone,"  he  whispered,  close  to  her  ear,  and  he  held 
her  right  hand  firmly,  in  his  horror  at  the  thought  that  she 
might  be  wedded  to  a  man  already  dead. 

Veronica  made  a  slight  effort  of  instinct,  to  loose  his  hold 
and  to  take  the  hand  that  had  fallen  from  hers.  But  it  was 
only  instinctive  and  hardly  conscious  at  all.  Her  eyes  were  on 
Gianluca's  face,  and  the  blackness  of  a  vast  grief  already 
darkened  her  soul. 


302  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

There  was  but  an  instant.  The  tall  old  priest,  with  eyes 
lifted  heavenwards,  neither  saw  nor  heard. 

"  Ego  conjungo  vos —  He  said  all  the  words,  and  then, 
high  in  air,  he  made  the  great  sign  of  the  cross.  "  Benedictas 
vos  omnipotens  Deus — "  and  he  spoke  all  the  benediction. 

He  closed  his  eyes  a  moment  in  instant  prayer.  When  he 
opened  them  and  looked  down,  his  face  turned  whiter  still. 
On  each  side,  before  him,  knelt  the  living,  Veronica  and 
Taquisara,  their  hands  clasped  and  wedded,  as  they  had  been 
when  he  had  spoken  the  high  sacramental  words,  and  between 
them,  white,  motionless,  the  halo  of  his  fair  hair  about  his 
marble  brow,  lay  Gianluca  della  Spina,  like  an  angel  dead  on 
earth. 

"  Merciful  Lord  !     What  have  I  done  ?  "  cried  the  priest. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  Taquisara  turned  quickly.  But 
Veronica  did  not  hear.  The  Sicilian  saw  where  Don  Teodoro's 
starting  eyes  were  fixed,  and  he  understood,  and  his  own  blood 
shrieked  in  his  ears,  for  he  was  married  to  Veronica  Serra. 
Married — half  married,  wholly  married,  married  truly  or  falsely, 
by  the  sudden  leap  of  violent  chance — but  a  marriage  it  was,  of 
some  sort.  Both  he  and  the  priest  knew  that,  and  that  it  must 
be  a  voice  of  more  authority  than  Don  Teodoro's  which  could 
say  that  it  was  no  marriage.  For  the  Church's  forms  of  office, 
that  are  necessary,  are  few  and  very  simple,  but  they  mean  much, 
and  what  is  done  by  them  is  not  easily  undone.  But  Veronica 
neither  saw  nor  heard. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

"I  THINK — I  assure  you  that  nobody  knows  anything — but 
I  think  that  Don  Gianluca  will  improve  rapidly  after  this  crisis." 
That  was  the  opinion  of  the  great  doctor,  when  he  had  seen 
the  patient  on  the  afternoon  of  that  memorable  day.  For 
Veronica,  Taquisara,  and  Don  Teodoro  had  all  three  been 
mistaken  when  they  had  thought  that  Gianluca  was  dead.  As 
the  doctor  said,  there  had  been  a  crisis,  an  inward  convulsion 
of  the  nerves,  a  fainting  which  had  been  almost  a  catalepsy,  and, 
several  hours  later,  a  return  to  consciousness  with  a  greatly 
increased  chance  of  life,  though  with  extreme  momentary 
exhaustion. 


xxvi  TAQUISARA  303 

It  was  Taquisara  who  went  to  find  the  doctor,  leaving 
Veronica  on  her  knees,  while  Don  Teodoro  stood  motionless 
at  the  foot  of  the  couch,  his  hands  gripping  each  other  till  his 
nails  cut  the  flesh,  his  grotesque  face  invested  for  the  moment 
with  an  almost  sublime  horror  of  what  he  had  unwittingly  done. 

And  then  had  come  the  physician's  systematic  and  painful 
search  for  life,  his  doubts,  his  hopes,  his  suspicions,  his  in 
creasing  hope  again,  his  certainty  at  last  that  all  was  not  over — 
and  then  the  necessity  for  instantly  carrying  out  his  orders,  the 
getting  of  all  things  needed  for  the  sick  man  snatched  out  of 
death,  and  all  the  confusion  that  rises  when  the  whole  being  of 
a  great  household  must  exert  its  utmost  strength  in  one  direction, 
to  save  one  life. 

Amidst  it  all,  too,  the  helpless  father  and  mother  ran  about 
tearful,  incoherent,  wringing  their  hands,  believing  no  one  and 
yet  believing  the  impossible,  praying,  crying,  talking,  hindering 
everything  in  their  supreme  parents'  right  to  be  in  the  way  and 
nearest  to  what  they  loved  best — hysterical  with  joy,  both  of 
them,  at  the  end,  when  the  physician  said  that  Gianluca  was  to 
live,  and  was  not  dead  as  they  had  thought  him,  and  wildly, 
pathetically,  insanely  grateful  to  Veronica. 

"  I  saw  that  he  was  dying,"  she  told  them  simply,  when  he 
was  out  of  danger.  "  I  sent  for  Don  Teodoro,  and  we  were 
married." 

They  fell  upon  her  neck,  the  old  man  and  the  prematurely 
old  woman,  kissing  her,  pressing  her  in  their  arms,  crying  over 
her/ not  knowing  what  they  did. 

When  he  saw  that  she  was  telling  them,  Taquisara  went  away 
from  them  to  his  own  room  and  stayed  there  some  time.  And 
Don  Teodoro  also  went  home,  and  for  the  second  time  on  that 
day  he  bolted  his  battered  door  and  made  sure  that  he  was 
alone.  But  he  did  not  sit  at  his  table  playing  with  his  spectacles, 
as  in  the  morning.  He  knelt  in  a  corner,  against  one  of  his 
rough  bookcases,  bowed  to  the  ground  as  though  a  mountain 
had  come  upon  him  unawares,  and  now  and  then  he  beat  his 
forehead  against  the  parchment  bindings  of  his  favourite  folio 
Muratori,  as  certain  wild  beasts  crouch  on  their  knees  and  with 
a  swinging  of  slow  despair  strike  their  heads  against  the  bars  of 
their  cage  many  times  in  succession. 

For  Taquisara  and  Don  Teodoro  knew,  each  knowing  also 
that  the  other  knew,  that  what  Veronica  believed  to  have  been 
done  that  day  had  not  been  really  done,  save  in  the  intention, 


304  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

and  that  what  had  really  been  done  must  by  Church  law  and 
right  be  undone  before  she  could  be  truly  married  to  Gianluca 
della  Spina.  That  is  to  say,  if  the  thing  done  had  any  value 
whatsoever  before  God  and  man. 

It  is  easy  to  say  that  in  other  lands  and  under  other  practices 
of  faith  the  four  persons  concerned  in  what  had  happened  might 
have  honestly  told  themselves  that  such  a  marriage  was  no  mar 
riage  at  all.  An  unbelieving  Italian,  and  there  are  many  in  the 
cities,  though  few  in  the  country,  would  have  laughed  and  said 
that  the  important  point  was  the  legal  union  pronounced  by  the 
municipal  authority,  and  that  since  there  had  been  none  here, 
there  was  nothing  to  undo.  Yet  if  by  any  similar  chance — 
more  difficult  to  imagine,  of  course,  but  conceivable  for  argu 
ment's  sake — the  same  mistake  had  occurred  in  a  legal  marriage 
by  a  syndic,  that  same  unbelieving  Italian  would  have  felt  in 
regard  to  it  precisely  what  Taquisara  and  Don  Teodoro  felt, 
namely,  that  the  union  was  well  nigh  indissoluble.  For  Italy, 
as  a  nation  and  a  whole,  while  imitating  other  nations  in  many 
respects,  has  again  and  again  refused  to  listen  to  any  suggestion 
embodying  a  law  of  divorce.  To  all  Italians,  high,  low,  atheists, 
bigots,  monarchists,  republicans, — whatever  they  may  be, — 
marriage  is  an  absolutely  indissoluble  bond.  The  most  that 
they  will  allow,  and  have  always  allowed,  is  that  in  such  cases 
as  Veronica's,  it  is  in  the  power  of  the  highest  authority, 
ecclesiastic  or  legal,  according  to  their  persuasion,  to  annul  a 
marriage  altogether  and  declare  that  it  never  took  place  at  all, 
on  the  ground  that  the  requirements  of  the  Church  or  of  the 
law  have  not  been  properly  fulfilled. 

In  society,  of  the  two  forms,  which  are  both  looked  upon  as 
necessary  together,  the  blessing  of  the  Church  is  considered  by 
far  the  more  indispensable,  though  most  people  acknowledge 
the  importance  and  validity  of  the  other,  as  well  as  its  wisdom ; 
and  society,  as  an  aristocratic  body,  as  a  rule  refuses  absolutely 
to  receive  within  its  doors  an  Italian  couple  who  have  not  been 
married  by  a  priest.  Among  all  society's  many  traditions  and 
prejudices,  there  is  none  more  ancient,  more  deep-rooted,  or 
more  rigorous  to-day  than  this  one. 

Under  these  circumstances  it  is  not  surprising  that  Taquisara, 
strong,  loyal,  and  simple  as  he  was,  should  honestly  believe 
with  all  his  heart  that  he  had  been  married  to  Veronica;  nor 
that  Don  Teodoro  himself  should  look  upon  what  he  had 
unwittingly  done  as  being  something  which  he  alone  had  no 


xxvi  TAQUISARA  305 

power  to  undo,  if,  in  all  conscience  and  truth,  it  had  been  done 
at  all. 

The  worst  point  of  all,  in  the  opinion  of  those  two  men,  was 
that  Veronica  sincerely  believed  herself  married  to  Gianluca,  as 
in  her  intention  she  really  was,'  while  Gianluca  himself,  having 
pronounced  the  solemn  '  I  will '  with  his  last  conscious  breath 
and  being  told  on  coming  to  himself  that  the  sacramental  words 
had  been  spoken,  had  no  reason  at  all  for  doubting  that  he  was 
actually  her  husband.  The  position  was  as  full  of  difficulties 
as  could  be  imagined.  To  let  Gianluca  know  the  truth  would 
have  been  almost  certain  to  kill  him.  To  speak  of  it  to  Veronica 
for  the  present  seemed  almost  equally  impracticable,  though  it 
was  quite  impossible  to  take  any  steps  towards  the  annulling  of 
the  marriage  without  her  open  concurrence  and  help,  as  well  as 
Taquisara's.  Meanwhile,  not  only  she  and  Gianluca,  but  the 
Duca  and  Duchessa,  too,  regarded  the  matter  as  altogether 
settled  and  accomplished.  At  any  moment  Veronica  had  it  in 
her  power  to  send  for  the  syndic  of  Muro  and  cause  the  neces 
sary  formalities  of  the  municipal  marriage  to  be  properly  executed. 
She  would  then  be  legally  married  to  Gianluca,  while  in  the  eyes 
of  the  Church  she  was  already  Taquisara's  wife,  by  the  fact  of 
form  though  not  by  the  intention  of  any  one. 

It  did  not  occur  either  to  Taquisara  or  to  the  priest  that  they 
could  keep  their  secret  forever  and  allow  matters  to  proceed  to 
such  a  conclusion.  Don  Teodoro  was  far  too  earnest  a  believer 
and  a  churchman  at  heart  to  allow  what  he  should  consider  a 
great  sin  to  be  committed  without  any  attempt  to  hinder  it,  and 
with  the  Sicilian  the  point  of  honour  was  concerned,  as  well  as 
a  deeply  rooted  adherence  to  social  tradition  and  to  the  forms 
and  ceremonies  of  religion  in  which  he  had  been  brought  up. 
They  were  neither  of  them  men  to  have  so  repudiated  all  they 
held  the  most  sacred  in  faith  and  honour,  even  if  either  of  them 
had  held  the  secret  alone  without  the  other's  knowledge. 

But  each  knew  that  the  other  knew  the  truth,  and  on  that 
first  day,  each  departed  to  his  own  room  lest  he  should  be 
suddenly  brought  face  to  face  again  with  the  other. 

It  was  his  unwillingness  to  allow  a  thing  to  be  done  which,  as 
a  man  and  a  gentleman,  he  thought  both  dishonourable  and 
wrong,  that  prevented  Taquisara  from  leaving  Muro  at  once. 
For  himself,  his  first  impulse  was  to  escape  from  the  situation, 
from  the  horrible  temptation  he  endured  when  he  was  with 
Veronica,  from  the  barest  possibility  of  any  unfaithfulness  to  his 

U 


306  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

friend.  At  that  time  the  Italians  were  fighting  in  Massowah 
and  as  an  officer  of  the  reserve  he  could  have  volunteered  for 
active  service  at  a  moment's  notice — with  a  terribly  good  pros 
pect  of  never  coming  back  alive. 

But  even  his  death  would  hardly  have  mended  matters,  in  his 
scrupulous  opinion,  unless  Veronica  should  of  her  own  accord 
and  without  any  especial  reason  insist  upon  being  again  married 
in  church,  contrary  to  the  Church's  own  rule,  but  on  the  reason 
able  ground  that  Gianluca  had  been  unconscious  during  a  part 
of  the  ceremony.  If  Taquisara  were  dead,  such  a  marriage 
would  be  valid,  of  course ;  but  the  prospect  of  his  death  gave 
him  no  assurance  that  she  would  ever  do  such  a  thing  at  all ; 
and,  moreover,  in  spite  of  his  passionate  temperament,  he  was 
far  too  sensible  a  man  to  think  deliberately  of  sacrificing  his 
life  for  such  reasons.  Like  many  another  man  suddenly  placed 
in  a  hard  position  as  an  obstacle  in  the  path  of  a  loved  woman, 
he  asked  himself  the  question,  whether,  in  honour  and  against 
religion,  he  should  not  commit  suicide.  But  the  answer  was  a 
foregone  conclusion,  and  it  was  plainly  his  duty  to  stand  by  his 
friend  and  by  Veronica,  alive  and  able  to  do  the  best  he  could 
for  them  both.  In  immediate  present  circumstances  his  presence 
was  of  the  greatest  importance  to  Gianluca,  who  depended  on 
him  almost  entirely  for  help,  in  his  sensitive  dislike  of  being 
touched  and  moved  by  servants. 

And  the  man  who  was  thus  thrust  into  a  situation  from 
which  it  seemed  hard  to  escape  at  all,  loved  Veronica  Serra 
with  all  his  heart,  with  all  his  soul,  with  the  broad,  deep, 
simple  passion  of  simpler  times,  having  in  him  much  of  that 
old  plainness  of  character  which  made  men  take  without 
question  the  things  they  wanted,  and  hold  them  by  main 
strength  and  stoutness  of  heart  against  all  comers  while  they 
lived. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  he  had  been  able  to  speak 
coldly  to  her,  and  to  seem  to  dislike  her.  That  was  past,  and 
his  devotion  was  even  in  his  hands  and  visible,  if  he  did  with 
them  the  smallest  act  for  her  service. 

She  saw  it,  and  was  glad,  for  he  pleased  her  more  and  more 
in  the  days  that  followed  the  great  day,  while  Gianluca  lay  pale 
and  happy  and  gaining  a  little  strength,  and  she,  as  his  wife, 
sat  through  many  hours  of  the  day  by  his  bedside,  reading  to 
him,  and  telling  him  much  about  her  life,  but  not  often 
allowing  him  to  speak  much^  lest  he  should  lose  ground  and  be 


xxvi  TAQUISARA  307 

in  danger  again.  It  seemed  to  her  at  that  time  that  Taquisara 
was  learning  to  be  another  friend  to  her,  less  in  most  ways 
than  Gianluca  had  been,  but  having  much  that  Gianluca  had 
not — the  strength,  the  decision,  the  toughness.  She  did  not 
miss  those  things  in  Gianluca.  She  would  not  have  had  him 
otherwise  than  he  was,  but  she  saw  them  all,  and  felt  their 
influence,  and  admired  them  in  the  other  man. 

She  felt,  too,  that  she  had  often  treated  him  with  unneces 
sary  and  almost  unmannerly  coldness,  and  repenting  of  it,  she 
meant,  in  pure  innocence  of  maiden  purpose,  to  make  it  up 
to  him  now,  by  being  more  kind.  Indeed,  she  could  not  under 
stand  why  she  had  ever  been  so  hard  to  him  in  former  days, 
excepting  when  he  had  spoken  so  rudely  to  her  at  Bianca's 
house ;  and  since  she  had  seen  and  learned  to  value  his  loyal 
affection  for  Gianluca,  she  had  not  only  forgiven  him  for  what 
he  had  said,  but  had  found  that,  on  the  whole,  he  had  been 
right  to  say  it. 

As  for  her  marriage  with  Gianluca,  it  seemed  to  her  to  have 
changed  nothing,  beyond  the  great  change  it  had  wrought  in 
him  for  the  better.  She  talked  with  him  as  before.  She  felt, 
as  before,  that  he  was  her  dearest  and  best  friend.  To  please 
him,  she  made  plans  with  him  for  their  future,  though  some 
times  the  sharp  fear  for  his  life  ran  through  her  heart  like  a 
needle  of  ice.  They  could  live  half  the  year  in  Naples  and 
the  other  six  months  in  Muro,  but  sometimes,  when  he  should 
be  quite  well,  they  would  travel  and  see  the  world  together. 
It  was  pleasant  to  think  that  they  had  the  right  to  be  always 
together,  now,  for  it  would  have  seemed  terrible  even  to  Vero 
nica  to  go  back  to  the  old  days  of  letter-writing.  To  her,  their 
marriage  had  been  the  final  cementing  of  the  most  beautiful 
friendship  in  the  world.  She  was  glad  that  she  had  given  her 
life  for  him,  since,  after  all,  the  giving  of  it  now  changed  it  so 
little.  It  was  clear,  she  thought,  that  she  was  made  for  friend 
ship  and  not  for  love ;  and  since  she  was  so  made,  she  had 
done  the  best  in  marrying  her  best  friend. 

One  day,  when  Gianluca  was  asleep,  she  had  gone  alone 
to  her  little  rose  garden  up  by  the  dungeon  tower.  The  autumn 
was  beginning  in  the  mountains ;  there  were  few  roses  left,  and 
the  northerly  breeze  blew  up  to  her  out  of  the  vast  depth  at  her 
feet.  Alone  there,  she  thought  of  all  these  things  and  of  how 
she  was  intended  by  her  nature  for  this  friendship  of  hers. 
Reasoning  about  it  with  herself,  she  took  an  imaginary  case. 


308  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Suppose,  she  thought,  that  she  had  begun  to  be  Taquisara's 
friend,  instead  of  Gianluca's,  on  that  day  in  Bianca's  garden. 
Her  mind  worked  quickly.  She  pictured  to  herself  the  long 
correspondence,  the  intimacy  of  thought,  the  meeting  and  the 
destruction  of  the  dividing  barrier,  the  daily,  hourly  growing 
friendship,  and  then — the  marriage,  the  touch  of  hands,  the  first 
kiss. 

The  scarlet  blood  leapt  up  like  fire  to  her  face.  She  started 
and  looked  round,  half  dreading  lest  some  one  might  be  there 
to  see.  But  she  was  quite  alone,  and  she  wondered  at  herself. 
It  must  be  shame,  she  thought,  at  the  mere  idea  of  marrying 
another  man  when  she  was  Gianluca's  wife.  At  all  events,  she 
said  in  her  heart,  she  would  not  think  of  such  things  again.  It 
was  probably  a  sin,  and  she  would  remember  to  speak  of  it,  at 
her  next  confession.  Don  Teodoro  would  tell  her  what  he 
thought.  For  in  lonely  Muro,  she  had  no  other  confessor,  nor 
desired  any.  Her  faults,  great  and  small,  were  such  as  she 
would  have  acknowledged  and  discussed  with  the  good  man,  in 
her  own  drawing-room  as  willingly  as  in  church — as,  indeed,  she 
often  did.  But  not  wishing  to  be  alone  with  herself  any  longer 
on  that  day,  she  came  down  from  the  tower  and  went  to  her 
room,  where  she  spent  an  hour  with  Elettra  in  examining  the 
state  of  her  very  much  reduced  wardrobe. 

"  Your  Excellency  is  in  rags,"  observed  the  woman.  "  You 
cannot  appear  in  Naples  as  a  bride  with  any  of  the  things  you 
have.  In  the  first  place,  you  have  scarcely  anything  that  is  not 
black  or  white.  But  also,  though  some  of  these  clothes  had  a 
cheerful  youth,  their  old  age  is  very  sad." 

Veronica  laughed  at  Elettra's  way  of  expressing  herself,  and 
they  went  over  all  the  wardrobe  together  that  afternoon. 

As  Taquisara  saw  how  those  around  him  seemed  to  have 
recovered  from  the  terrible  emotions  through  which  they  had 
passed,  and  how  the  life  in  the  castle  quickly  subsided  again  to 
its  monotonous  level  and  ran  on  in  its  old  channel,  the  tempta 
tion  to  solve  all  difficulties  by  letting  matters  alone  presented 
itself  to  him  with  considerable  force.  Ten  days  had  gone  by, 
and  he  had  not  once  found  himself  alone  with  Don  Teodoro. 
When  they  met,  they  avoided  each  other's  eyes,  and  each  re 
mained  separately  face  to  face  with  the  same  trouble,  while  each 
had  a  trouble  of  his  own  with  which  the  other  had  nothing  to  do. 

There  was  little  or  no  change  now  from  what  had  formerly 
been  the  daily  round.  Again,  as  before,  Taquisara  carried  his 


xxvi  TAQUISARA  309 

friend  daily  from  his  own  room  to  the  large  one  in  which 
Veronica  and  the  Sicilian  again  fenced  almost  every  day. 
Sometimes,  when  it  was  fine  and  warm,  Gianluca  was  taken  out 
upon  the  balcony  for  a  couple  of  hours.  He  no  longer  suffered 
in  being  moved;  but  his  lower  limbs  were  now  completely 
paralyzed.  He  hardly  thought  of  the  fact,  in  his  constant  and 
increasing  happiness.  It  was  only  when  he  saw  the  fencing 
that  he  sometimes  looked  down  sadly  at  his  useless  legs  and 
thin  hands,  for  fencing  was  the  only  exercise  for  which  he  had 
ever  cared.  He  had  none  of  that  sanguine  vitality  which  would 
have  made  such  an  existence  intolerable  to  Taquisara,  or  even 
to  Veronica.  With  her  beside  him,  or  if  he  could  not  have  her, 
with  books  or  conversation,  he  was  not  only  contented,  but 
happy.  It  must  be  remembered,  too,  that  he  was  not  aware 
that  his  condition  was  hopeless  and  that  he  might  live  a  total 
cripple  for  many  years  to  come.  If  he  had  known  that,  he 
might  have  been  less  gay;  not  knowing  it,  married  to  the 
woman  he  loved  and  looking  forward  to  complete  recovery,  life 
was  little  short  of  a  paradise  within  sight  of  a  heaven. 

Veronica  never  tired  of  taking  care  of  him,  and  one  might 
have  supposed  that  she  was  satisfied  with  the  prospect  of 
nursing  him  all  her  life,  or  all  his.  But  she  herself  by  no 
means  believed  the  doctor's  predictions.  She  had  been  too 
sure  that  he  was  to  die,  and  too  much  surprised  and  delighted 
by  his  recovery,  to  accept  on  mere  faith  of  any  man's  verdict 
the  assurance  that  he  was  never  to  walk  again.  There  was  the 
reaction,  too,  after  the  strong  emotion  and  the  heart-rending 
anxiety,  the  relaxation  of  mind  and  nerve,  and  the  willingness 
to  be  happy  again  after  so  much  strain  and  stress. 

As  Gianluca's  general  health  improved,  the  Duca  and 
Duchessa  began  to  speak  of  an  early  departure  for  their  own 
place  near  Avellino.  Their  eldest  son's  illness  had  placed  him 
first  with  them,  but  they  had  several  other  children,  all  of  whom 
had  been  under  the  care  of  a  sister  of  the  Duchessa  during  the 
latter's  stay  at  Muro.  The  motherly  woman  was  beginning  to 
be  anxious  about  them,  and  the  old  gentleman  had  a  fair-haired 
little  daughter  of  eleven  summers,  whom  he  especially  loved 
and  longed  to  see. 

They  thought  that  before  long  Gianluca  might  be  moved.  It 
was  growing  colder,  day  by  day,  in  the  first  chill  of  early  autumn, 
and  they  believed  that  a  little  warmth  would  do  him  good. 
Veronica  should  come  and  pay  them  a  visit,  and  Taquisara,  too. 


310  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

As  for  the  marriage,  they  meant  that  it  should  be  an  open 
secret  for  a  little  while  longer.  The  servants  knew  of  it,  and 
would  tell  other  servants  of  course,  and  the  Duchessa  had 
written  of  it  to  her  sister,  on  hearing  which  fact  Veronica  had 
written  to  Bianca  Corleone,  telling  her  exactly  what  had 
happened,  lest  Bianca  should  hear  of  it  from  some  one  else.  It 
was  long  before  she  had  an  answer  to  this  letter,  and  when  it 
came  Bianca's  writing  was  full  of  her  own  desperate  sadness, 
though  there  were  words  of  congratulation  for  Veronica,  such  as 
the  occasion  seemed  to  require.  Bianca  wrote  from  a  remote 
corner  of  Sicily,  where  she  was  living  almost  alone  on  her 
husband's  principal  estate.  There  had  been  trouble.  Corleone 
had  suddenly  taken  it  into  his  head  to  come  home  for  a  few 
weeks.  Then  Bianca's  brother,  Gianforte  Campodonico,  had 
appeared  and  had  taken  a  violent  dislike  to  Pietro  Ghisleri,  so 
that  Bianca  feared  a  quarrel  between  them.  Before  anything 
had  happened,  she  had  induced  Ghisleri  to  go  to  Switzerland, 
and  she  herself  had  gone  to  Sicily,  whither  her  brother  had 
accompanied  her.  But  he  had  been  obliged  to  leave  her  soon 
afterwards,  and  she  suspected  that  he  had  followed  Ghisleri  to 
the  north  in  order  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  him.  She  was  very 
unhappy,  and  there  was  much  more  about  herself  in  her  letter 
than  about  Veronica's  marriage. 

The  old  couple  grew  daily  more  anxious  to  leave  for  Avellino. 
They  proposed  that  as  soon  as  Gianluca  could  safely  travel,  the 
whole  party  should  go  there  together.  Before  returning  to 
Naples  for  the  winter,  the  legal  formalities  of  the  municipal 
wedding  could  be  fulfilled,  and  the  marriage  should  then  be 
formally  announced.  Gianluca  and  Veronica  would  come  and 
spend  the  winter  in  the  Delia  Spina  palace,  wherein,  as  in  all 
Italian  patriarchal  establishments,  there  was  a  spacious  apart 
ment  for  the  establishment  of  the  eldest  son  whenever  he  should 
marry. 

Once,  when  this  was  discussed  before  them,  Taquisara  met 
Don  Teodoro's  eyes,  and  the  two  men  looked  steadily  at  each 
other  for  several  seconds.  But  even  after  that  they  avoided  a 
meeting.  It  did  not  seem  absolutely  necessary  yet,  and  each 
knew  that  the  other  had  not  yet  found  the  solution  of  the 
difficulty.  To  every  one's  surprise,  Gianluca  opposed  the  plan 
altogether.  They  all  seemed  to  have  taken  it  for  granted  that 
he  need  not  be  consulted,  and  Veronica,  in  her  complete  self- 
sacrifice,  would  have  been  willing  to  do  whatever  pleased  the 


xxvi  TAQUISARA  311 

rest.  But  Gianluca  quietly  refused  to  go  to  Avellino  at  all. 
So  long  as  his  wife  would  give  him  hospitality,  he  said,  with 
a  proud  smile,  he  would  stay  in  Muro.  After  that  he  should 
prefer  to  return  directly  to  Naples.  It  was  not  easy  to  argue 
against  an  invalid's  prerogative.  After  some  fruitless  attempts 
to  move  him,  his  father  and  mother  temporarily  desisted. 

"  You  shall  not  go  to  Avellino,"  he  said  to  Veronica,  when 
they  were  alone.  "  It  is  a  den  of  wild  children  and  intolerable 
relations,  and  you  would  not  have  a  moment's  peace.  You  have 
no  idea  how  detestable  that  sort  of  existence  would  be  after  this 
heavenly  calm.  I  am  very  fond  of  my  father  and  mother,  and 
my  brothers  and  sisters,  and  my  relations,  and  most  of  them  are 
very  good  people  in  their  way.  But  that  is  no  reason  why  you 
and  I  should  be  set  up  to  be  looked  at,  and  talked  at,  by  them 
all,  twelve  hours  every  day." 

"  I  would  certainly  much  rather  stay  here,"  answered  Veronica, 
with  a  little  laugh.  "  That  is,  if  you  can  induce  them  to  stay 
here,  too." 

"  For  that  matter,  they  are  quite  unnecessary,"  said  Gianluca. 
"  There  is  no  reason  in  the  world  why,  if  you  like,  we  should 
not  have  the  legal  marriage  here  since  you  have  a  syndic  and  a 
municipality.  Then  we  could  announce  it,  and  there  would  be 
no  objection  to  our  staying  here  alone." 

"  That  is  true,"  replied  Veronica,  thoughtfully.  "  We  could 
always  do  that,  if  we  chose." 

But  she  did  not  propose  to  do  it  at  once,  and  he  did  not  like 
to  press  her.  He  saw  no  harm,  however,  in  speaking  of  the 
project  with  Taquisara.  The  Sicilian  looked  at  him,  said  nothing, 
and  then  carefully  examined  a  cigar  before  lighting  it.  He  had 
long  expected  that  such  a  proposal  would  come  either  from 
Gianluca  or  Veronica,  and  he  was  not  surprised.  But  when  he 
at  last  heard  it  made,  he  held  his  breath  for  a  moment  or  two 
and  then  began  to  smoke  in  silence. 

"You  say  nothing,"  observed  Gianluca.  "  Do  you  see  any  poss 
ible  objection  to  our  doing  that  ?  Society  ought  to  be  satisfied." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  answered  Taquisara.  "  I  should  think 
that  anything  would  be  better  than  Avellino  and  all  the  rela 
tions.  As  for  going  back  to  Naples  and  having  a  municipal 
wedding  there,  and  no  religious  ceremony,  I  would  not  do  it  if 
I  were  you.  The  two  marriages  are  always  supposed  to  take 
place  on  consecutive  days,  or  at  least  very  near  together,  since 
both  are  necessary  nowadays." 


312  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"  I  know,"  said  Gianluca. 

Taquisara  made  up  his  mind  that  he  must  take  the  initiative 
and  speak  with  Don  Teodoro=  He  had  been  willing  and  ready 
to  give  up  all  right  to  hope  for  the  woman  he  loved,  in  order 
that  his  friend  might  marry  her,  but  the  idea  that  there  should 
be  an  irregularity  about  the  marriage,  or  no  real  marriage  at  all, 
as  he  believed  was  the  case,  was  more  than  he  could,  or  would, 
bear.  To  speak  with  Veronica  was  out  of  the  question.  He 
knew  enough  of  women  to  understand  that  if  she  ever  knew 
how,  by  an  accident,  she  had  held  his  hand  instead  of  Gianluca's 
at  the  moment  when  she  was  giving  her  very  soul  to  save  the 
dying  man,  she  might  never  forgive  him.  She  might  even  turn 
and  hate  him.  She  would  never  believe  that  he  himself  had 
not  known  what  he  was  doing.  If  it  were  possible,  he  would 
not  incur  such  risk.  Anything  in  reason  and  honour  would  be 
better  than  to  be  hated  by  her.  He  had  seen  her  change  of 
manner,  of  late,  and  he  knew  very  well  that  she  was  beginning 
to  like  him  much  more  than  formerly. 

In  the  morning,  after  Don  Teodoro  had  said  mass,  Taquisara 
went  to  him  and  found  him  over  his  books.  This  time  the 
priest  recognized  him  at  once  and  rose  to  greet  him  gravely,  as 
though  he  had  expected  his  visit. 

"Have  you  made  up  your  mind  what  to  do?"  asked  the 
Sicilian,  as  he  sat  down. 

It  was  as  though  they  had  been  in  the  habit  of  discussing  the 
situation  together,  and  were  about  to  renew  a  conversation  which 
had  been  broken  off. 

"  I  know  what  I  shall  have  to  do,  if  matters  go  any  further," 
answered  the  priest,  in  a  dull  voice,  unlike  his  own. 

"What  would  that  be?" 

"  It  is  in  my  power  to  cause  the  marriage  to  be  declared  null 
and  void." 

"By  appealing  to  your  bishop,  I  suppose.  In  that  event 
Donna  Veronica  would  have  to  be  told." 

"  There  is  another  way." 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  take  it  and  act  at  once  ?  Why  do 
you  hesitate  ?"  Taquisara  watched  him  keenly. 

"  Because  it  would  mean  the  sacrifice  of  my  whole  existence. 
I  am  human.  I  hesitate  as  long  as  there  is  any  other  hope." 

"I  do  not  understand.    As  for  sacrificing  your  existence — 
that  must  be  an  exaggeration." 
.     "Not  at  all.     If  it  were  only  my  own,  I  should  not  have 


Xxvi  TAQUISARA  313 

hesitated,  perhaps.  I  do  not  know.  But  what  I  should  do 
would  involve  a  great  and  direct  injury  to  many  others — to 
hundreds  of  other  people." 

Taquisara  looked  at  him  harder  than  ever,  understanding  him 
less  and  less. 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  secret,"  he  said  at  last,  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  priest,  resting  his  elbow  on  the  old  table 
and  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  though  there  was  no  strong 
light  to  dazzle  him.  "Yes — yes,"  he  repeated.  "I  have  a 
secret,  a  great  secret.  I  cannot  tell  it  to  you — not  even  to  you, 
though  you  are  one  of  the  most  discreet  men  I  ever  met.  You 
must  forgive  me,  but  I  cannot." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  know  it,"  replied  Taquisara.  "  Especially 
not,  if  it  concerns  many  people." 

A  short  silence  followed,  during  which  neither  moved,  nor 
looked  at  the  other. 

"  Don  Teodoro,"  asked  the  Sicilian,  at  last,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  please  tell  me  your  view  of  the  case,  as  a  priest.  Am  I,  at 
the  present  moment,  in  consequence  of  what  happened  a 
fortnight  ago,  actually  married  to  Donna  Veronica,  or  not  ?  " 

The  priest  hesitated,  looked  down,  took  off  his  spectacles, 
and  put  them  on  again,  before  he  answered  the  question. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  most  people,  if  any  had  been 
present,  would  be  of  opinion  that  it  was  enough  of  a  marriage 
to  require  a  formal  annullation  before  any  other  could  take 
place.  I  should  certainly  not  dare  to  consider  the  princess  and 
Don  Gianluca  as  married,  when  it  was  you  who  held  her  right 
hand,  and  received  the  benediction  with  her  in  the  prescribed 
attitude." 

"Yes,"  answered  Taquisara;  "but  in  your  own  individual 
opinion,  as  a  priest,  am  I  married  to  her,  or  not  ?  " 

"As  a  priest,  I  can  have  no  individual  opinion.  I  can  tell 
you,  of  course,  that  the  marriage  can  be  annulled.  In  the  first 
place,  you  neither  of  you  had  the  intention  of  being  married  to 
each  other.  In  all  the  sacraments,  the  intention  of  those  to 
whom  they  are  administered  is  the  prime  consideration.  It 
would  only  be  necessary  for  you  and  the  princess  to  swear  that 
you  had  no  intention  of  being  married,  and  that  it  was,  to  the 
best  of  your  knowledge,  entirely  an  accident,  and  all  difficulties 
could  be  removed." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  But  then  Donna  Veronica  would  know,  and 
Gianluca  would  have  to  know  it,  too.  I  came  here  to  tell  you 


314  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

that  they  are  seriously  thinking  of  sending  for  the  syndic,  to 
publish  the  banns  of  marriage  at  the  municipality  and  marry 
them  legally,  after  which  the  Duca  and  Duchessa  will  go  to 
Avellino,  and  leave  them  here  together.  Whether  it  costs  your 
existence  or  mine,  Don  Teodoro,  this  thing  shall  not  be  done." 

"No,"  said  Don  Teodoro.  "It  shall  not.  You  are  in  a 
terrible  position  yourself.  I  feel  for  you." 

"I?"    Taquisara  bent  his  brows.    "I,  in  a  terrible  position?" 

"  Do  not  be  angry,"  answered  the  priest,  gently.  "  I  know 
your  secret  well  enough,  though  she  does  not  guess  it  yet.  Do 
not  think  me  indiscreet  because  I  mention  the  fact.  It  would 
be  far  better  if  you  could  go  away  for  the  present.  But  I  know 
how  you  are  situated,  and  you  are  helping  to  prevent  mischief. 
We  must  help  each  other.  If  it  is  to  cost  the  existence  of  one 
of  us,  it  shall  be  mine.  You  are  young,  and  I  am  old.  And 
that  is  not  the  only  reason.  My  secret  is  not  like  yours.  I 
cannot  let  it  go  down  into  the  grave  with  me.  I  have  kept  it 
long  enough,  and  I  should  have  kept  it  longer,  if  this  had  not 
happened.  I  shall  probably  go  to  Naples  to-morrow.  You  must 
prevent  them  from  publishing  the  banns  until  I  come  back,  or 
until  you  hear  from  me.  I  may  never  come  back.  It  is 
possible." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Taquisara,  for  he  saw  a  strange 
look  in  the  old  man's  clear  eyes. 

"  I  shall  not  end  my  life  here,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"You?  End  your  life?  You,  commit  suicide?  Are  you 
mad,  Don  Teodoro  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  I  may  live  many  years  yet.  I  hope  that  I  may, 
for  I  have  much  to  repent  of.  But  I  shall  not  live  here." 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  said  Taquisara.  "  But  if  you  know  my 
secret — keep  it." 

"  As  I  have  kept  mine  till  now,"  answered  the  old  man. 

So  they  parted,  and  Taquisara  went  back  to  the  castle, 
leaving  the  lonely  priest  among  his  books. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

VERONICA  did  not  wish  the  people  of  Muro  to  believe  that  she 
was  marrying  a  cripple.  That  was  the  reason  why  she  did  not 
at  once  agree  to  Gianluca's  proposal  and  send  for  the  syndic  to 


xxvii  TAQUISARA  315 

perform  the  legal  ceremony.  She  had  persuaded  herself  that  by 
quick  degrees  of  improvement,  he  would  recover  the  power  to 
stand  upright,  at  least  to  the  extent  to  which  he  had  still  retained 
his  strength  when  he  had  first  arrived.  Since  he  had  lived 
through  the  crisis,  she  grew  sanguine  for  him  and  hoped  much. 

Her  feeling  was  natural  enough  in  the  matter,  though  it  was 
made  up  of  several  undefined  instincts  about  which  she  troubled 
herself  very  little — pride  of  race,  pride  of  personal  wholeness 
and  soundness,  pride  of  womanhood  in  the  manhood  of  a 
husband.  Veronica  named  none  of  these  in  her  thoughts,  but 
they  were  all  in  her  heart.  Few  women  would  not  have  felt 
the  same  in  her  place. 

She  was  sure  that  he  was  to  get  better,  if  not  quite  well,  and 
she  wished  that  he  might  be  well  enough  to  stand  beside  her 
on  his  feet  when  they  should  be  formally  married.  If  he  con 
tinued  to  improve  as  rapidly  as  during  the  past  fortnight,  she 
believed  that  the  day  could  not  be  far  off.  When  he  could 
stand,  in  another  month,  perhaps,  the  syndic  should  come.  It 
was  even  possible  that  by  that  time  he  might  be  able  to  walk  a 
little  with  her  in  the  village. 

Her  people  were  a  sort  of  family  to  her.  That  was  a  rem 
nant  of  feudalism  in  her  character,  perhaps,  which  had  suddenly 
developed  during  the  months  she  had  spent  in  Muro.  But 
that,  too,  was  natural,  as  it  was  natural  that  they  should  love 
her  and  almost  worship  the  ground  she  trod.  For  the  poorer 
classes  of  Italians  are  sometimes  very  forgetful  of  benefits,  but 
are  rarely  ungrateful.  She  had  done  in  a  few  months,  for  their 
real  advantage,  so  that  they  felt  it,  enough  to  make  up  for  the 
oppression  of  generations  of  Serra,  and  almost  enough  to  atone 
for  the  extortions  of  Gregorio  Macomer.  She  was  the  last  of 
her  name,  and  her  husband,  if  he  lived,  was  to  be  the  father  of 
a  new  stock,  which  would  be  called  Serra  della  Spina,  and 
whose  men  would  hold  the  lands  and  take  the  rents  and  do 
good,  or  not,  according  to  their  hearts,  each  in  his  generation. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  the  people  had  a  right  to  see  Gianluca 
standing  on  his  feet  beside  her,  since  her  marriage  was  to  mean 
so  much  to  them. 

Don  Teodoro  came  to  her,  soon  after  Taquisara  had  left  him, 
to  tell  her  that  he  must  go  to  Naples  without  delay.  She 
looked  at  him  in  astonishment  at  the  proposal,  and  as  she 
looked,  she  saw  that  his  face  was  changed.  Oddly  enough,  he 
held  himself  much  more  erect  than  usual;  but  his  features 


316  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

were  drawn  down  as  though  by  much  suffering,  and  his  eyes, 
usually  so  clear  and  steady,  wandered  nervously  about  the  room. 

"  You  are  not  well,"  said  Veronica.  "  Why  must  you  go 
now  ?  " 

"  It  is  because  I  must  go  now  that  I  am  not  well,"  answered 
the  priest,  shaking  his  head.  "  I  am  very  sorry  to  be  obliged 
to  leave  you  at  this  time.  I  only  hope  that,  if  you  are  thinking 
of  fulfilling  the  legal  formalities  of  your  marriage,  you  will  give 
me  notice  of  the  fact,  so  that  I  may  come  back,  if  I  can.  You 
know  that  all  that  concerns  you  concerns  my  life." 

Veronica  looked  at  him,  and  wondered  why  he  was  so  much 
disturbed.  But  his  words  gave  her  an  opportunity  of  speaking 
to  him  about  her  own  decision.  She  did  not  wish  him  to  think 
her  capricious,  much  less  to  imagine  that  she  looked  upon  the 
marriage  as  a  mere  piece  of  sentiment,  which  was  not  to  change 
her  life  at  all,  except  to  bind  her  as  a  nurse  to  the  bedside  of  a 
hopeless  invalid.  That  idea  itself  was  beginning  to  be  re 
pugnant  to  her,  and  the  hope  that  Gianluca  might  recover  was 
becoming  a  necessary  part  of  her  happiness,  though  she  scarcely 
knew  it. 

"  My  dear  Don  Teodoro,"  she  said,  "  so  far  as  that  is  con 
cerned,  you  may  be  quite  sure  that  I  will  let  you  know  in  time. 
I  have  not  the  slightest  intention  of  fulfilling  any  legal  formalities 
until  my  husband  is  well  enough  to  stand  on  his  feet  with  me 
before  the  syndic;  and  I  am  afraid  that  he  will  not  be  well 
enough  for  that  in  less  than  a  month,  at  the  earliest." 

The  wandering  eyes  suddenly  fixed  themselves  on  her  face, 
the  strange  great  features  relaxed,  and  the  wide,  thin  lips  smiled 
at  her.  His  happiness  was  strangely  founded,  but  it  was 
genuine,  though  not  altogether  noble.  Her  words  were  a 
reprieve ;  and  he  could  keep  his  secret  longer,  almost,  perhaps, 
until  he  died,  and  when  he  should  be  dying,  it  would  be  easier 
to  tell.  But  that  was  far  from  being  all.  He  loved  her,  as  the 
source  of  great  charity  and  kindness  from  which  the  people 
were  drawing  life,  with  all  his  own  passionate  charity ;  and  he 
loved  her  for  herself,  for  her  gentleness  and  her  hardness, 
because  she  ruled  him,  and  because  she  touched  his  heart. 
All  other  thoughts  away,  he  could  not  bear  to  think  of  her  as 
bound  for  life  to  be  the  actual  wife  of  a  helpless  cripple. 

And  something  of  her  own  heart  he  half  guessed  and  half 
knew.  For  in  her  innocence  she  had  confessed  to  him  how  she 
had  thought  of  Taquisara,  when  she  had  been  alone  that  day, 


xxvn  TAQUISARA  317 

and  how  the  blood  had  flowed  in  her  face,  and  burned  her  so 
that  she  was  almost  sure  that  such  thoughts  must  be  wrong.  It 
was  because  she  had  told  him  these  things  that  he  had  watched 
Taquisara  ever  since,  and  he  had  seen  that  the  man  loved  her 
silently. 

But  he  knew  also,  as  well  as  any  one  could  know  it,  that 
Gianluca  would  never  stand  upon  his  feet  again.  And,  more 
over,  he  knew  that  though  it  would  seem  wrong  to  Veronica  to 
love  Taquisara,  and  would  be  wrong,  if  she  had  intention,  as  it 
were,  yet  there  could  be  no  real  sin  in  it,  for  she  was  not 
Gianluca's  wife.  Had  she  been  truly  married,  Don  Teodoro, 
gentle  and  old,  would  have  found  strength  to  force  Taquisara  to 
go  away — had  anything  more  than  the  force  of  honour  been 
needed  in  such  a  case. 

"  I  am  very  glad,  my  dear  Princess,"  he  said,  and  his  voice 
trembled  in  the  reaction  after  his  own  anxiety.  "  You  do  not 
wish  me  to  go  to  Naples,  now  ?  "  he  said,  with  an  interrogation, 
after  a  brief  pause.  "  You  would  rather  that  I  should  wait 
until  Christmas  ?  " 

"  Of  course — if  you  can,"  answered  Veronica,  somewhat 
surprised  at  his  change  of  tone.  "  But  if  you  really  must  go,  if 
you  are  so  very  anxious  to  go  at  once,  I  must  not  hinder  you." 

"  I  will  see,"  said  Don  Teodoro.  "  I  will  think  of  it.  Perhaps 
it  can  be  arranged — indeed,  I  think  it  can." 

He  was  old,  she  thought,  and  he  had  never  been  decided  in 
character,  except  about  doing  good  to  poor  people,  and  studying 
Church  history.  So  she  did  not  press  him  with  questions,  but 
let  him  do  as  he  would ;  and  he  did  not  go  to  Naples  then,  but 
he  went  and  found  Taquisara  within  the  hour,  and  told  him 
what  Veronica  had  said  about  her  marriage. 

The  Sicilian  heard  him  in  silence,  as  they  stood  together  on 
the  lower  bastion  where  they  had  met,  but  Don  Teodoro  saw 
the  high-cut  nostrils  quiver,  while  the  even  lips  set  themselves 
to  betray  nothing. 

"  If  matters  go  no  further  than  they  have  gone,"  he  said  at 
last,  as  the  priest  waited,  "  we  need  do  nothing." 

So  they  did  nothing,  and  Don  Teodoro  did  not  go  to  Naples. 

The  daily  life  ran  on  in  its  channel.  But  Gianluca  did  not 
continue  to  improve  so  fast.  Then  it  seemed  as  though  im 
provement  had  reached  its  limit,  and  still  he  was  helpless  to 
stand,  being  completely  and  hopelessly  paralyzed  in  his  lower 
limbs.  At  first,  neither  the  old  couple  nor  Veronica  realized 


3i8  TAQU1SARA  CHAP. 

that  he  was  no  longer  getting  better,  though  he  was  no  worse. 
He  himself  did  not  believe  it ;  but  Taquisara  saw  and  under 
stood.  Gianluca  refused  to  be  moved,  insisting  that  he  was 
gaining  strength,  and  that  some  day  the  sensation  would  come 
suddenly  to  his  feet,  and  he  should  stand  upright.  Otherwise, 
he  was  now  almost  as  well  as  when  he  had  come  to  Muro. 
They  sent  for  a  wheel-chair  from  Naples,  and  he  wheeled  him 
self  through  the  endless  rooms,  and  to  luncheon,  and  to  dinner, 
Veronica  walking  by  his  side.  It  gave  his  arms  exercise,  and 
he  became  very  expert  at  it,  laughing  cheerfully  as  he  made  the 
wheels  go  round,  and  he  went  so  fast  that  Veronica  sometimes 
had  to  run  a  few  steps  to  keep  up  with  him. 

Then,  one  day,  Taquisara  carried  him  out  to  the  gate,  and  set 
him  in  the  carriage,  and  Veronica  took  him  for  a  short  drive. 
The  poor  people  were,  most  of  them,  at  their  work,  but  the  very 
old  men  and  the  boys  and  girls  turned  out,  and  flocked  after 
the  victoria  as  it  moved  slowly  through  the  narrow  street.  Some 
of  them  called  out  words  of  simple  blessing  on  the  couple,  but 
others  hushed  them  and  said  that  the  princess  was  not  really 
married  yet.  Gianluca  smiled  as  he  looked  into  Veronica's 
face,  and  she  smiled,  too,  but  less  happily. 

The  weather  changed.  There  had  been  a  short  touch  of  cold 
in  the  air  at  the  end  of  August,  and  breezes  from  the  north  that 
poured  down  from  the  heights  behind  the  castle,  into  the 
tremendous  abyss  below,  and  shot  up  again  to  the  walls  and  the 
windows,  even  as  high  as  the  dungeon  tower.  Then,  at  the  new 
moon,  the  weather  had  changed,  the  sky  grew  warm  again,  the 
little  clouds  hung  high  and  motionless  above  the  peaks,  melting 
from  day  to  day  to  a  serene,  deep  calm,  in  which  all  the  earth 
seemed  to  be  ripening  in  a  great  stillness  while  heaven  held  its 
breath,  and  the  mountains  slept.  In  the  rich  valley  the  grapes 
grew  full  and  dark,  and  the  last  figs  cracked  with  full  sweetness 
in  the  sun,  the  pears  grew  golden,  and  the  apples  red,  and  all 
the  green  silver  of  the  olive  groves  was  dotted  through  and 
through  its  shade,  with  myriad  millions  of  dull  green  points, 
where  the  oil-fruit  hung  by  little  stems  beneath  the  leaves. 

An  autumn  began,  such  as  no  one  in  Muro  remembered — 
an  autumn  of  golden  days  and  dewy  moonlight  nights,  soft, 
breathless,  sweet,  and  tender.  It  was  a  year  of  plenty  and  of 
much  good  wine,  which  is  rare  in  the  south,  for  when  the  wine 
is  much  it  is  very  seldom  good.  But  this  year  all  prospered, 
and  the  people  said  that  the  Blessed  Mother  of  God  loved  the 


xxvii  TAQUISARA  319 

young  princess  and  would  bless  her,  and  hers  also,  and  give  her 
husband  back  his  strength,  even  by  a  miracle  if  need  should  be. 

Gianluca  clung  to  the  place  where  he  was  happy,  and  would 
not  be  taken  away.  His  mother  humoured  him,  and  the  old 
Duca,  yearning  for  his  little  fair-haired  daughter,  went  alone  at 
last  to  Avellino. 

Then  came  long  conversations  at  night  between  the  Duchessa 
and  Veronica.  The  Duchessa  loved  her  son  very  dearly,  but 
since  he  was  so  much  better,  she  was  tired  of  Muro.  She 
wished  to  see  her  other  children.  It  was  ridiculous  to  expect 
that  she  and  her  husband  should  relieve  each  other  as  sentries 
of  propriety  in  Veronica's  castle,  the  one  not  daring  to  go  till 
the  other  came  back.  Why  should  Veronica  not  send  for  the 
syndic  and  have  the  formalities  fulfilled  ?  Once  legally,  as  well 
as  christianly,  man  and  wife,  the  two  could  stay  in  Muro  as  long 
as  they  pleased. 

But  Veronica  would  not.  Gianluca  was  improving,  and 
before  long  he  would  walk.  She  had  set  her  heart  upon  it,  that 
he  should  be  strong  again.  She  would  not  have  her  people 
think  that  he  was  a  cripple.  The  people  were  peasants,  the 
Duchessa  answered,  peasants  like  any  others.  Why  should  the 
Princess  of  Acireale  care  what  such  creatures  thought?  But 
Veronica's  eyes  gleamed,  and  she  said  that  they  were  her  own 
people  and  a  part  of  her  life,  and  she  told  the  Duchessa  all  that 
was  in  her  mind,  very  frankly,  and  so  innocently,  yet  with  such 
unbending  determination  to  have  her  way,  that  the  Duchessa 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  Thereupon,  after  the  manner  of 
futile  people,  she  repeated  herself,  and  the  struggle  began  again. 

It  was  a  tragedy  that  had  begun.  Veronica  had  escaped 
with  her  life  from  Matilde  Macomer  to  find  out  in  the  con 
sequence  of  her  own  free  deeds  what  tragedy  really  meant,  and 
how  bitter  the  fruit  of  good  could  be. 

Nor  in  the  slightest  degree  had  her  affection  for  Gianluca 
diminished,  nor  did  it  change  in  itself,  as  days  followed  days  to 
full  weeks,  and  week  choked  week,  cramming  whole  months 
back  into  time's  sack,  for  time  to  bear  away  and  cast  into  the 
abyss  of  the  useless  and  irrevocable  past. 

Still  he  was  her  friend,  still  she  would  give  her  life  to  save 
him,  and  would  have  given  it  again  if  it  had  been  to  give.  Still 
she  could  talk  with  him,  and  listen  to  him,  and  answer  smile 
and  word  and  gesture.  She  could  sit  beside  him  through  quiet 
hours,  and  drive  with  him  in  the  vast,  still  sunshine  of  that 


320  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

golden  autumn,  calling  him  by  gentler  names  than  friend  and 
touching  his  hand  softly  in  the  long  silence.  All  this  she  could 
do,  and  if  there  were  ever  any  effort  in  it,  that  was  surely  not  an 
effort  to  be  kind,  but  one  of  those  little  doubting,  uncertain, 
spontaneous  efforts  which  we  make  whenever  we  unconsciously 
begin  to  feel  that  it  will  not  be  enough  to  do  right,  but  that  we 
must  also  seem  to  do  right  in  other  eyes,  lest  our  right  be 
thought  half  hearted. 

The  days  were  monotonous,  but  it  was  not  their  monotony 
which  she  felt,  so  much  as  that  irrevocable  quality  of  them  all 
which  made  a  grey  background  in  her  soul,  against  which 
something  was  moving,  undefined,  strong  as  the  unseen  wind, 
yet  mistily  visible  sometimes,  having  more  life  than  shape — a 
terrible  thing  which  drew  her  to  it  against  her  will,  and  yet  a 
thing  which  had  in  it  much  besides  terror. 

She  turned  from  it  when  she  knew  that  it  was  there,  and  fixed 
her  sight  upon  Gianluca's  face.  Sometimes  she  found  comfort 
in  that,  and  she  did  all  that  was  required  of  her,  and  more  also, 
and  was  glad  to  do  it. 

But  the  wrong  done  to  nature  was  deeper  and  more  real  than 
all  the  good  she  could  do  to  hide  it,  and  it  cried  out  against  her 
continually  by  the  voice  of  the  woman's  instinct.  It  was  not 
Gianluca  who  became  intolerable  to  her,  but  she  herself,  and  it 
was  to  escape  from  herself  that  she  clung  to  him  closely,  as  well 
as  out  of  affection  for  him;  for  when  she  was  by  herself  she  was 
no  longer  alone.  That  other  unshaped  something  kept  her 
company. 

She  was  bound  hand  and  foot,  soul,  body,  and  intelligence, 
for  life.  She,  the  very  strong,  was  tied  to  the  helpless ;  she,  the 
energetic,  was  bound  to  apathy ;  she,  the  active,  was  nailed  to 
the  passive ;  she,  the  free,  the  erect,  was  bowed  under  a  burden 
which  she  must  carry  to  her  life's  end,  never  to  be  free  again. 

She  could  bear  the  burden,  and  she  said  none  of  these  things 
to  herself.  But  the  wrong  was  apon  nature,  and  the  mother  of 
all  turned  against  the  one  child  that  would  be  unlike  all  the  rest. 

The  man  who  was  a  man,  soul  and  body,  heart,  hand,  and 
spirit,  stood  beside  the  other,  who  was  a  shadow,  and  beside 
her,  who  was  a  woman — and  the  tragedy  began  in  the  prologue 
of  contrast.  Strength  to  weakness,  motion  to  immobility,  the 
grace  and  carriage  of  manly  youth  to  the  sad  restfulness  of 
helpless,  hopeless  limbs  that  never  again  could  feel  and  bear 
weight ;  that  was  the  contrast  from  which  there  was  no  escaping. 


xxvn  TAQUISARA  321 

On  the  steps  of  love's  temple,  at  the  very  threshold,  the  one  lay 
half  dead,  never  to  rise  again ;  and  beside  him  stood  the  other, 
in  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  morning  of  life. 

It  would  have  been  hard,  even  if  the  contrast  had  been  less 
strong  to  the  eye,  and  the  distance  of  the  two  souls  greater  one 
from  the  other — even  if  Taquisara  had  not  been  what  he  was. 
But  as  the  one,  in  his  being,  was  alive  from  head  to  heel,  so  the 
other  was  dead  save  in  the  thoughts  in  which  he  still  had  a 
shadowy  life.  And  for  the  rest — flesh,  blood,  and  life  apart — 
they  were  equals.  Was  Gianluca  true  ?  Taquisara  was  as  honest 
and  loyal  as  the  brave  daylight.  Was  the  one  brave  ?  So  was 
the  other,  in  thought  and  deed.  Was  Gianluca  enduring  ?  So 
was  Taquisara,  and  he  had  the  more  to  endure,  the  more  to 
fight,  the  more  to  keep  down  in  him. 

She  knew  that  he  loved  her.  How  it  was  that  she  knew  it 
she  could  not  tell,  but  sometimes  the  music  of  the  truth  rang 
in  her  ears  till  the  flame  shot  up  in  her  face  and  she  shut  her 
eyes  to  hide  her  soul — a  loud,  triumphant  music,  stately  and 
grand  as  might  herald  the  marching  of  archangels — till  her 
inward  cry  of  terror  pierced  it,  and  all  was  as  still  as  the  grave. 
Then,  for  a  space,  the  vision  of  sin  stood  dark  in  the  way,  and 
she  turned  and  fled  from  it  back  to  Gianluca's  side,  back  to  the 
care  of  him,  back  to  his  helpless  love  for  her,  back  to  his 
pathetic,  stricken  restfulness,  back  to  the  maiden  dreams  of  a 
life-long  friendship,  unbroken  as  the  calm  of  the  summer  ocean, 
perfect  as  the  cloudless  sky  of  those  golden  autumn  days. 

For  a  time,  the  dark  wraith  of  sin  faded,  and  there  was  no 
music  in  the  air,  and  her  cheek  was  cool,  while  she  looked  all 
the  world  in  the  face  with  the  fearless  eyes  of  a  child-empress. 
Again  the  monotonous,  good  day  rolled  in  the  same  grooves, 
noiselessly,  and  surely,  as  all  the  days  to  come  were  to  roll 
along,  to  the  end  of  ends.  She  worked  for  her  people,  talked 
with  Don  Teodoro,  talked,  smiled,  laughed  with  Gianluca,  and 
bore  the  old  Duchessa's  ramblings  with  patience  and  kindness. 

But  all  of  a  sudden,  for  a  nothing,  at  the  sight  of  a  fencing 
foil,  at  the  smell  of  Gianluca's  cigarette,  at  the  sound  of  a  foot 
fall  she  knew,  there  came  the  mad  wish  to  be  alone ;  and  she 
resisted  it,  for  it  did  not  seem  good  to  her,  and  even  as  she 
struggled  the  blood  rose  in  her  throat  and  was  in  her  cheeks  in 
a  moment,  so  that  if  just  then  by  chance  Taquisara  came  upon 
her  suddenly,  the  room  swam  and  for  an  instant  her  brain  reeled 
as  she  turned  her  face  from  him  in  mortal  shame, 


322  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

She  knew  so  well  that  he  loved  her,  and  that  he  was  suffering, 
too.  It  was  love's  hands  that  had  chiselled  the  bronze  of  his 
face  to  leaner  lines,  and  that  threw  a  new  darkness  into  his  dark 
eyes.  It  was  for  her  that  there  was  that  other  note  in  his  voice 
that  had  never  been  there  before.  It  was  for  love  of  her  that 
once  or  twice,  when  she  took  his  hand  in  greeting,  it  was  icy 
cold — not  like  Gianluca's,  half-dead,  and  dull,  and  chilly,  and 
very  thin — but  cold  from  the  heart,  as  it  were,  and  more  wildly 
living  than  if  it  had  burned  like  fire ;  trembling,  and  not  in 
weakness,  with  something  that  caught  her  own  fingers  and  ran 
like  lightning  to  the  very  core  and  quick  of  her  soul,  hurting  it 
overmuch  with  its  bolt  of  joy  and  fear.  It  was  for  her  that,  at 
the  first,  he  had  been  cold  and  silent,  because  he  was  afraid  of 
himself,  and  of  love,  and  of  the  least,  faintest  breath  that  might 
tarnish  the  bright  shield  of  his  spotless  loyalty  to  Gianluca. 

All  the  little  changes  in  his  speech  and  manner  were  clear  to 
her  now,  and  each  had  its  meaning,  and  all  meant  the  same. 
His  words,  spoken  from  time  to  time,  came  back  to  her,  and 
she  understood  them,  and  saw  how,  for  his  friend's  sake,  he 
had  held  his  peace  for  himself,  and  had  ever  urged  her  to  marry 
Gianluca,  in  spite  of  everything. 

If  he  had  not  loved  her,  or  if  she  had  thought  that  he  did 
not,  she  would  have  had  the  pride  to  tear  her  heart  clean  from 
love's  terrible  hands,  whole  or  broken,  as  might  be,  and  to  toss 
it,  with  the  dead  dull  weeks  into  old  time's  sack  of  irrevocably 
lost  and  useless  things,  and  so  to  live  her  life  out,  loveless,  in 
the  still  haven  of  Gianluca's  friendship.  But,  having  his  love, 
she  had  not  such  pride;  and  the  loyalty  she  truly  had  was 
matched  alone  against  all  human  nature  since  the  world 
began. 

Do  what  she  would,  she  yielded  sometimes  to  that  great  wish 
to  go  suddenly  to  her  own  room  and  be  alone.  Then,  standing 
at  her  window  when  the  mist  whitened  in  the  valley  under  the 
broad  moon,  she  listened,  and  instantly  the  air  was  full  of 
music  again  as  love  lifted  up  its  voice,  and  sweetly  chanted  the 
melody  of  life.  With  parted  lips  she  listened,  till  the  moonlight 
filled  her  eyes,  and  her  heart  fluttered  softly,  and  her  throat 
was  warm. 

And  sometimes,  too,  while  she  was  there,  the  man  who  loved 
her  so  silently  and  so  well  was  by  his  friend's  side,  tending  as 
his  own  the  life  that  stood  between  him  and  the  hope  of 
happiness ;  loving  both  him  and  her,  but  honour  best.  But 


xxvn  TAQUISARA  323 

sometimes  he,  too,  was  alone  in  his  own  room,  and  even  at  his 
window,  facing  the  same  broad  moon,  the  same  white  mist  in 
the  sleeping  valley,  the  same  dark,  crested  hills,  but  not  hearing 
the  music  that  the  woman  heard.  He  could  be  calm  for  a 
while  as  he  looked  out;  but  presently,  without  warning,  he 
swallowed  hard,  and  again,  as  on  the  fatal  day,  he  held  her  little 
hand  in  his,  under  the  priest's  great  sign  of  the  cross,  and  his 
own  blood  shrieked  in  his  ears.  In  cruel  anger  against  him 
self,  he  turned  from  the  window  then  and  paced  the  room  with 
short,  braced  steps,  till  at  last  he  threw  himself  into  a  deep  chair 
and  sullenly  took  the  first  book  at  hand,  to  read  himself  back 
to  the  monotony  of  all  he  had  to  bear. 

And  so  those  two  fearless  ones  went  through  the  days  and 
weeks  in  twofold  terror  of  themselves  and  each  of  the  other, 
and  the  slow,  wordless  tragedy  was  acted  before  eyes  that  saw 
but  did  not  understand.  Still  Gianluca  refused  to  go  away,  and 
still  Veronica  refused  to  send  for  the  syndic.  She  would  not 
yield  to  the  Duchessa,  who  found  herself  opposed  both  by  her 
son  and  her  son's  wife. 

No  one  knew  how  much  Veronica  herself  still  hoped,  when 
the  bright  autumn  days  were  broken  at  last  by  the  first  winter 
storm  that  rose  out  of  the  dark  south  in  monstrous  wrath 
against  such  perpetual  calm.  She  herself  did  not  know  whether 
she  still  hoped  for  any  improvement,  or  whether,  in  her  inmost 
thoughts,  she  had  given  up  hope  and  had  accepted  the  certainty 
that  Gianluca  was  never  to  be  better  than  he  was  now.  There 
is  something  of  habit  in  all  hope  that  has  been  with  us  long, 
and  the  habits  we  notice  the  least  are  sometimes  the  hardest  of 
all  to  break. 

When  Veronica  said  that  Gianluca  would  yet  stand  up  and 
walk,  no  one  contradicted  her,  except  the  doctors,  and  she  had 
no  faith  in  them.  They  came  and  went.  The  great  professor 
came  three  times  from  Naples  and  saw  the  patient,  ate  his 
dinner,  slept  soundly,  and  went  away  assuring  Veronica  that  it 
was  useless  to  send  for  him  unless  some  great  change  took 
place.  To  please  her,  he  recommended  a  little  electricity, 
baths,  light  treatment  such  as  could  give  little  trouble,  and  he 
carefully  instructed  the  young  doctor  of  Muro  in  all  he  was  to 
do.  When  he  had  finished,  and  the  young  man  had  promised 
to  do  everything  regularly,  they  looked  at  each  other,  smiled 
sadly,  but  professionally,  and  parted  with  mutual  good  will  and 
understanding,  both  knowing  that  the  case  was  now  perfectly 


324  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

hopeless.  Their  coming  and  going  made  little  intervals  in  the 
tragic  play  of  life,  but  never  broke  its  continuity. 

The  old  Duca  appeared  again,  and  slipped  quietly  into  his 
place,  as  before.  But  at  the  end  of  a  week  there  was  an  un 
expected  flaring-up  of  energy,  as  it  were,  in  his  docile  and 
affectionate  being.  When  he  and  his  wife  and  Veronica  were 
with  Gianluca,  he  suddenly  declared  that  the  situation  must 
end,  and  that  they  must  all  go  down  to  Naples.  Veronica 
should  send  for  the  syndic,  and  have  the  legal  marriage  at  once, 
and  then  they  would  all  go  down  together.  It  was  quite  clear 
in  his  mind,  as  simple  as  daylight,  as  easy  of  performance  as 
breathing,  as  satisfactory  as  satisfaction  itself.  The  Duchessa 
was  with  him,  and  supported  all  he  said  with  approving  nods 
and  futile  gestures  and  incoherent  phrases  thrown  in,  as  one 
throws  straws  upon  a  stream  to  see  the  current  carry  them  away. 

Gianluca  said  nothing,  and  Veronica  stood  alone  against 
them  all,  for  she  knew  that  he  was  on  his  father's  side.  She 
guessed,  perhaps,  that  Gianluca  had  made  up  his  mind  never 
to  leave  her  roof  except  as  her  lawful  husband,  clinging  to  her, 
as  he  had  tried  to  cling  to  her  skirt  on  that  most  eventful  day 
when  she  had  gone  to  the  window  for  a  moment ;  and  she 
understood  why,  having  spoken  once,  he  would  not  speak  again. 
He  was  too  proud  to  repeat  such  a  request,  but  his  love  was  far 
too  obstinate  to  be  satisfied  with  less  than  its  fulfilment.  But 
his  own  hope  for  his  recovery  was  more  alive  than  hers. 

Instinctively,  as  she  opposed  them  all,  Veronica  looked  round 
for  Taquisara.  It  was  not  often  that  she  needed  help,  and  she 
knew  that  he  could  have  helped  her,  had  he  been  there.  But 
she  had  to  speak  for  herself,  She  said  what  she  could ;  but  in 
that  self-examination  which  self-defence  forces  upon  those  who 
have  never  dissected  their  own  hearts,  a  new  and  fearful  truth 
sprang  up,  clear  of  all  others,  bright,  keen,  and  terrible. 

It  was  no  longer  for  her  people's  sake  that  she  was  waiting  in 
the  hope  of  Gianluca's  recovery.  It  was  no  longer  for  her  own, 
nor  for  his.  It  was  out  of  her  deadly  love  for  Taquisara  that 
all  her  nature  rose  against  that  final  bond  of  the  law,  and  the 
world,  and  society.  So  long  as  that  was  not  yet  welded  and 
made  fast  upon  her,  there  was  the  fleeting  shadow  of  a  desperate 
hope  that  she  might  still  be  free. 

It  rose  and  smote  her  between  the  eyes,  and  clutched  at  her 
heart ;  and  when  she  knew  its  face,  she  stopped  in  the  midst  of 
her  speech,  and  turned  white,  even  to  her  lips  and  her  throat 


xxvil  TAQUISARA  325 

"  I  do  not  know.     I  will  think  about  it,"  she  said  faintly. 

As  her  power  to  oppose  gave  way,  the  Duca's  astonishment 
at  his  victory  swelled  his  weakness  to  violence ;  and  he  raved 
of  duties  and  obligations,  of  paternal  authority,  of  the  obedience 
of  children  and  children-in-law,  in  all  the  boundless,  self-assured 
incoherence  of  feebleness  suddenly  let  loose  against  smitten 
strength. 

Veronica  seemed  to  hear  nothing.  She  had  resumed  her 
seat  beside  Gianluca,  and  was  stroking  his  white  hand, — less 
thin  than  it  had  been,  but  somehow  even  more  lifeless, — and 
she  looked  down  at  it  very  thoughtfully,  while  he  watched  her 
face.  He  was  happier  than  he  had  been  for  a  long  time,  for 
he  knew  that  she  was  going  to  make  a  concession,  and  that  he 
had  not  asked  for  it. 

There  was  silence,  and  Veronica  raised  her  head.  The  old 
Duca's  face  was  red  with  the  exertion  of  much  speaking.  He 
was  a  good  man  and  meant  well,  but  in  that  moment  Veronica 
hated  him  as  she  had  never  hated  any  one,  not  even  Matilde 
Macomer.  And  yet  she  knew  that  his  intention  was  all  for  the 
best,  and  that  it  was  natural  that  he  should  press  his  point  and 
exult  when  she  gave  up  the  fight.  She  opened  her  lips  to  speak. 

At  that  moment  the  door  turned  on  its  hinges  opposite  her 
eyes,  and  Taquisara  stood  before  her.  He  came  in  quietly  and 
not  knowing  that  anything  extraordinary  was  occurring.  But 
his  eyes  met  hers  for  one  moment,  and  instantly  her  cheek 
reddened  in  the  evening  light. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  promise,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  This  is  the 
first  week  in  December.  If  Gianluca  is  not  much  better  by  the 
first  of  January,  I  will  do  as  you  ask.  The  civil  marriage 
shall  take  place  here,  and  if  he  wishes  to  go  down  to  Naples, 
we  will  all  go  together." 

The  Duca  began  to  speak  again,  sure  that  he  could  press  her 
further.  But  she  interrupted  him.  Taquisara  had  gone  to  the 
window  and  was  turning  his  back  on  them  all. 

"  No,"  said  Veronica,  "  that  is  what  I  will  do,  and  I  will  do 
it — I  have  promised — that,  and  nothing  else." 

She  had  risen,  and  as  she  pronounced  the  last  words,  she  left 
Gianluca's  side  and,  with  her  eyes  fixed  before  her,  went  straight 
to  the  door,  pale  and  erect.  She  felt  that  she  had  given  her 
life  a  second  time.  Taquisara  heard  her  footsteps,  left  the 
window,  and  opened  the  door  for  her  to  pass,  standing  aside 
while  she  went  by.  He  saw  her  head  move  a  little,  as  though 


326  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

she  would  turn  and  look  at  him,  and  he  saw  how  resolutely 
she  resisted  and  looked  before  her.  He  understood  that  she 
would  not  trust  herself  to  see  his  eyes  again,  and  he  quietly 
closed  the  door  behind  her.  She  knew  what  he  must  have  felt 
when  she  had  spoken,  and  he  felt  a  lofty  pride  that  she  should 
trust  him  to  bear  the  knife  without  warning,  sure  that  he  would 
utter  no  cry. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  tenth  of  December  was  at  hand,  on  which  day  Don 
Teodoro  had  been  in  the  habit  of  going  to  Naples  to  pay  his 
annual  visit  to  his  friend  Don  Matteo.  When  Taquisara  told 
him  of  what  had  taken  place,  the  priest  knew  that  he  need  not 
disturb  Veronica  for  permission  to  leave  Muro,  merely  for  the 
sake  of  gaining  a  day  or  two.  One  day  was  all  he  needed,  and 
there  would  be  three  weeks  from  the  tenth  of  December  to  the 
first  of  January.  He  made  his  preparations  for  the  little  journey 
with  much  care,  and  went  away  with  more  luggage  than  usual. 
He  also  set  all  his  manuscripts  and  books  in  order.  When  he 
was  going  away  he  gave  the  key  of  his  little  house  to  Taquisara. 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  come  back,"  he  said.  "  But  you  will 
hear  from  me.  It  will  be  kind  of  you  to  have  my  books  and 
manuscripts  sent  to  an  address  which  I  will  give  you  in  my 
letter.  I  do  not  think  that  we  shall  meet  again.  Good-bye. 
If  I  were  not  what  I  am,  I  would  bless  you.  Good-bye." 

Taquisara  held  his  hand  for  a  moment. 

"We  shall  all  bless  you,"  he  answered,  "if  you  can  end  this 
trouble." 

"I  can,"  said  the  priest.    "And  your  blessing  is  worth  having." 

He  went  away  quickly,  as  though  not  trusting  himself  to  speak 
any  more.  He  had  taken  leave  of  Veronica  and  the  rest  as 
hastily  as  he  could  without  giving  offence  to  any  one.  It  was 
not  until  he  looked  back  at  the  poor  people  who  waved  their 
hands  at  him  as  he  went  out  of  the  village  that  the  hot  tears 
streamed  down  his  cheeks. 

He  was  twenty-four  hours  in  reaching  Naples,  as  usual,  and 
his  friend  greeted  him  with  open  arms  as  he  always  did.  He 
thought  that  Don  Teodoro  looked  ill  and  tired,  and  as  it  was  a 
fine  day  they  walked  the  short  distance  from  Don  Matteo's 


xxvni  TAQUISARA  327 

house  to  the  cafe  where  the  priest  had  sat  with  Bosio,  and  they 
each  drank  a  cup  of  chocolate. 

Don  Matteo  observed  that  the  tenth  of  December  had  been 
a  fine  day  in  the  preceding  year,  too,  and  Don  Teodoro  tried 
to  remember  in  what  year  it  had  last  rained  on  that  date.  They 
ate  little  puffed  bits  of  pastry  with  their  chocolate,  and  they  sat 
a  long  time  over  it,  while  Don  Matteo  told  Don  Teodoro  of  an 
interesting  document  of  the  fourteenth  century  which  he  had 
discovered  in  a  private  library.  Don  Teodoro  spoke  rarely,  but 
not  at  random,  for  the  thinking  habit  of  the  scholarly  mind  does 
not  easily  break  down,  even  under  a  great  strain. 

Then  they  went  back  to  Don  Matteo's  house,  and  sat  down 
together  in  the  study.  Don  Matteo  wondered  why  his  friend 
did  not  unpack  and  arrange  his  belongings,  especially  as  he  had 
brought  more  luggage  than  usual  with  him,  but  he  saw  that  he 
was  tired,  and  said  nothing.  Don  Teodoro  took  off  his  spec 
tacles,  and  rubbed  them  bright  with  the  corner  of  his  mantle. 
He  looked  at  them  and  took  a  long  time  over  polishing  them, 
for  he  was  thinking  of  all  the  things  he  had  seen  through  the 
old  silver-rimmed  glasses,  some  of  which  he  should  never  see 
again. 

"  My  friend,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  wish  to  tell  you  a  secret." 

Don  Matteo  turned  slowly  in  his  seat,  uncrossed  his  knees, 
and  looked  at  him. 

"  You  may  trust  me,"  he  answered. 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Don  Teodoro.  "  But  there  are  reasons, 
as  you  will  see,  why  you  cannot  receive  this  as  an  ordinary 
secret.  I  wish  to  tell  it  to  you  as  a  confession.  You  will  then 
have  to  consult  the  archbishop,  before  giving  me  absolution — 
and  advice." 

"Is  it  as  serious  as  that ? "  asked  Don  Matteo,  very  much 
surprised,  for  only  the  very  gravest  matters,  and  generally  the 
most  terrible  crimes,  are  referred  to  the  bishop  by  a  confessor. 

"  It  is  a  grave  matter,"  answered  Don  Teodoro.  "  Have  the 
kindness  to  get  your  stole,  and  I  will  make  my  confession  here. 
But  we  will  lock  the  outer  door  of  the  outer  room,  if  you  please." 

He  was  shivering,  and  his  face  was  white  as  he  rose  to  go  and 
slip  the  bolt.  Re-entering  the  room,  he  locked  the  inner  door 
also  behind  him.  Don  Matteo  had  produced  from  a  drawer  an 
old  violet  stole  with  tarnished  silver  embroidery.  It  was  care 
fully  wrapped  up  in  thin,  clean,  white  paper.  A  priest  always 
wears  the  stole  in  administering  any  of  the  seven  sacraments. 


328  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

He  passed  it  over  his  head,  and  the  broad  bands  fell  over  his 
breast,  and  he  held  the  ends,  upon  which  were  embroidered 
small  Greek  crosses,  in  one  of  his  hands.  Grave  and  silent,  he 
sat  down  beside  the  table,  resting  his  elbow  upon  it  and  shading 
his  eyes  with  his  other  hand. 

Don  Teodoro  knelt  down  beside  him  at  the  table,  and  each 
said  his  part  of  the  preliminary  form  in  a  low  voice.  When 
Don  Teodoro  had  said  the  first  half  of  the  '  Confiteor,'  he  was 
silent  for  some  time,  and  Don  Matteo  was  aware  that  his  tall, 
thin  frame  was  trembling,  for  the  table  shook  under  his  elbow. 
Then  he  began  to  speak,  as  follows : — 

"  I  must  tell  the  story  of  my  life.  My  father  was  an  officer 
in  the  army  of  King  Ferdinand,  under  the  former  government, 
and  I  was  his  only  child.  He  had  a  little  fortune,  and  his  pay 
was  relatively  large  for  those  days,  so  that  I  was  brought  up  as 
a  gentleman's  son.  My  father,  who  had  been  so  fortunate  as 
to  make  many  advantageous  friendships  in  the  course  of  his 
career,  wished  me  to  enter  the  military  academy  and  the  army. 
By  his  interest  I  should  have  had  rapid  advancement.  But  this 
was  not  my  inclination.  Ever  since  I  can  remember  anything, 
I  know  that  I  ardently  wished  to  be  a  priest.  As  a  little  boy, 
I  used  to  make  a  small  altar  in  a  dark  room  behind  my  own, 
and  I  used  to  adorn  it  and  dress  it  for  the  feast  days,  and  light 
tapers  on  it,  and  save  my  pocket  money  to  buy  tiny  silver  orna 
ments  for  it.  Before  I  could  read  I  knew  the  Rosary  and  the 
short  Litanies,  and  I  used  to  say  them  very  devoutly  before  my 
little  altar,  with  genuflexions  and  other  gestures  such  as  I  saw 
the  priests  make  in  church.  My  father  smiled  sometimes,  but 
he  did  not  interfere.  He  was  a  devout  man,  though  he  was  a 
soldier.  I  had  some  facility  for  learning,  also,  and  was  fond  of 
all  books.  My  mother  died  when  I  was  four  years  old. 

"  I  need  not  tell  how  the  devout  passion  increased  in  me  as 
I  grew  older.  I  passed  through  all  the  stages  of  such  develop 
ment  very  quickly.  My  fathei  believed  that  I  had  a  true 
vocation  for  the  Church,  and  yielding  to  my  entreaties  and 
to  the  advice  of  his  friends,  who  told  him  that  he  could  never 
make  a  soldier  of  such  a  boy,  he  allowed  me  to  enter  a 
seminary.  I  was  very  happy,  and  my  love  of  books  and  my 
earnest  desire  to  be  a  priest  continued  to  increase.  I  was  made 
a  deacon  and  received  the  tonsure.  Then  I  fell  ill.  It  was 
the  will  of  heaven,  for  I  never  was  ill  before  that,  nor  have  been 
since.  It  was  a  long  illness,  a  dangerous  fever.  Just  before 


xxvin  TAQUISARA  329 

that  time,  while  I  was  in  the  seminary,  my  father  had  married  a 
second  time,  a  young  and  very  beautiful  woman,  scarcely  two 
years  older  than  I.  They  both  took  care  of  me,  and  she  was 
very  kind  and  liked  me  from  the  first. 

"  I  loved  her.  That  was  perhaps  an  illness  also,  for  I  never 
suffered  in  that  way  again.  It  was  very  terrible,  for  I  knew 
what  a  great  sin  it  was  to  love  my  father's  wife.  I  never  told 
her  that  I  loved  her,  and  she  was  always  the  same,  kind  and 
good.  My  heart  was  red-hot  iron  in  my  breast,  day  and  night, 
and  it  was  very  long  before  I  was  really  well  again.  After  that, 
I  confessed  my  sin  many  times,  but  I  could  not  feel  repentance 
for  it.  My  father  wondered,  and  so  did  she,  why  I  would  not 
go  back  to  the  seminary  for  the  few  months  that  remained  to 
complete  my  studies.  It  would  have  been  better  if  I  had  gone 
back.  But  I  loved  her,  and  I  could  not.  I  could  not  confess 
the  sin  in  my  heart  to  the  confessor  of  the  seminary,  for  whom 
I  had  great  esteem  and  who  had  known  me  so  long.  I  was 
ashamed,  and  waited,  thinking  that  it  would  pass.  But  I 
wished  to  escape. 

"I  joined  myself  as  a  lay  brother  to  a  Franciscan  mission 
that  was  going  to  Africa.  My  father  made  many  objections  to 
this,  but  I  overcame  them.  I  think  he  guessed  that  I  loved  his 
wife,  and  though  he  loved  me,  too,  he  was  glad  that  I  should  go 
away.  As  for  me,  I  trusted  that  in  the  labours  of  a  distant 
mission  I  should  forget  my  love,  feel  honest  repentance,  receive 
absolution,  and  be  ordained  a  true  priest  by  a  missionary 
bishop. 

"We  were  seven  who  started  together  upon  that  mission. 
After  two  years  I  alone  was  left  alive.  One  after  the  other  they 
died  of  the  fever  of  that  country.  We  had  written  for  help,  but 
I  knew  afterwards  that  our  letters  had  not  reached  the  sea. 
That  was  why  no  one  came  to  bring  help.  We  had  converted 
people  amongst  those  savages  and  had  built  a  chapel.  Even 
those  who  were  not  converted  were  friendly,  for  we  had  taught 
them  many  things.  My  companions  all  died,  one  by  one,  and 
I  buried  the  last.  But  I  myself  was  never  ill  of  the  fever.  Yet 
the  people  there  clung  around  me.  I  committed  a  great  sin. 
They  had  no  priest,  and  they  did  not  understand  that  I  was  not 
one,  for  I  dressed  like  the  others.  If  there  were  no  more 
services  in  the  little  chapel,  they  would  think  that  Christianity 
was  dead,  and  they  would  fall  back  to  their  former  condition. 
I  took  the  sin  upon  myself,  and  I  said  mass  for  them,  knowing 


330  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

that  it  was  no  mass,  and  praying  that  God  would  forgive  me, 
and  that  it  might  not  be  a  sacrilege.  I  did  not  fall  ill.  I  lived 
amongst  them,  and  received  their  confessions  and  administered 
all  the  sacraments  when  they  were  required,  for  the  space  of  a 
year  and  a  half,  during  which  I  sent  many  appeals  for  help. 
But  in  my  letters  I  did  not  explain  what  I  was  doing,  for  I 
intended  to  go  to  the  bishop  if  I  ever  got  home  alive,  and 
confess  to  him. 

"At  last  help  came,  priests  and  lay  brothers.  It  pleased 
Heaven  that  they  should  come  at  last  at  the  very  moment  when 
I  was  saying  mass  for  the  people.  Of  course  there  was  no 
bishop  amongst  them,  and  none  of  them  knew  that  I  was  not  a 
priest.  I  should  have  confessed  the  truth  to  the  eldest  of  them, 
but  I  had  no  courage,  for  I  did  not  do  it  at  once,  but  put  it  off, 
and  as  every  priest  said  mass  every  day,  I  said  mine,  too,  on 
the  first  morning  after  the  others  had  come.  I  wished  to  go 
away  at  once.  But  I  alone  knew  all  the  people,  and  could 
preach  a  little  in  their  language,  and  I  was  much  loved  by 
them,  for  I  had  been  alone  with  them  during  eighteen  months. 
So  my  new  brethren  would  not  let  me  go,  and  after  what  I  had 
done  so  far,  I  was  ashamed  to  tell  the  truth  about  myself. 
They  looked  up  to  me  as  a  superior,  because  I  had  been  so 
long  in  the  mission  and  had  lived  through  what  had  killed 
so  many.  They  thought  me  very  humble  and  praised  my 
humility.  But  it  was  not  humility — it  was  shame. 

"  During  two  years  more  I  remained  with  them,  and  two  of 
them  died,  but  the  rest  lived,  for  I  had  learned  how  men  should 
live  in  that  country  in  order  to  escape  the  fevers,  and  I  taught 
them.  The  mission  grew,  and  many  people  were  converted. 
Then  they  began  to  speak  of  sending  home  two  of  their  number 
to  Rome,  to  give  an  account  of  the  work,  and  to  get  more  help, 
if  possible,  in  order  that  the  conversion  might  be  carried  further 
into  the  country ;  and  they  decided  to  do  so.  It  was  my  right 
to  be  one  of  the  two,  and  I  took  it.  My  companion  was  a 
young  priest  less  strong  than  the  rest,  and  we  left  the  mission 
and  after  a  long  journey  we  got  home  safely.  I  meant  to  go  to 
the  first  bishop  I  met,  and  make  my  confession. 

"  But  when  we  came  to  Rome  and  we  were  giving  an  account 
of  what  had  been  done,  the  young  priest  thrust  me  forward  to 
speak,  as  was  natural,  and  I  seemed  to  be  a  personage  of 
importance,  because  I  had  lived  through  so  many  perils  and 
had  outlived  so  many.  We  two  were  invited  to  dinner  by 


xxviii  TAQUISARA  331 

cardinals,  and  were  admitted  to  a  private  audience  of  the  Pope. 
Everybody  seemed  to  know  what  I  had  done,  and  even  the 
liberal  newspapers  praised  my  courage  and  devotion. 

"  I  had  no  courage,  for,  being  full  of  vanity,  I  never  confessed 
my  sin.  But  I  would  not  go  back  to  the  mission,  and  when  I 
could  leave  Rome,  I  left  the  young  priests  there  and  went  to 
Naples  to  see  my  father.  He  had  read  what  had  been  written 
about  me,  and  was  proud  of  me,  and  he  received  me  gladly,  for 
he  loved  me  and  was  a  devout  man.  Six  years  had  passed 
since  I  had  seen  his  wife,  and  though  I  trembled  when  I  was 
just  about  to  see  her,  yet  when  she  entered  the  room  I  knew 
that  I  did  not  love  her  any  more,  and  I  was  very  much  pleased 
to  find  that  this  sin,  at  least,  had  left  me. 

"  I  lived  with  them  several  years,  devoting  myself  to  study, 
and  I  used  to  say  my  mass  in  a  church  close  by.  For  I  was  a 
priest  by  nature  and  heart,  and  I  had  grown  so  used  to  my  sin 
of  sacrilege,  that  I  shut  my  eyes,  and  told  myself  that  it  was  the 
wish  of  Heaven.  But  the  truth  is,  I  was  a  coward.  It  was 
then  that  you  first  knew  me,  and  you  know  how  my  father  died 
and  my  stepmother  married  again,  and  how  I  undertook  to  be 
the  tutor  of  poor  Bosio  Macomer.  But  with  years,  the  city 
grew  distasteful  to  me,  and  I  wished  to  be  alone,  for  Bosio  was 
grown  up,  and  I  had  no  heart  for  teaching  any  one  else.  I  was 
also  very  poor,  having  spent  what  my  father  left  me,  both  on 
books,  and  in  other  ways  of  which  I  need  not  speak  because 
there  was  nothing  wrong  in  what  I  did  with  the  money. 

"  And  then,  Count  Macomer — the  one  who  is  now  insane — 
offered  to  make  me  curate  of  Muro  and  chaplain  of  the  castle 
of  the  Serra,  all  of  which  you  know.  And  I,  accustomed  to  my 
wickedness,  and  feeling  myself  a  priest,  though  I  was  not  one, 
accepted  it  for  the  peace  of  it. 

"It  is  a  very  terrible  thing.  For  all  the  sacraments  I  have 
administered  in  these  many  years  have  been  of  no  value ;  but 
the  worst,  for  its  consequences,  is  that  none  of  the  many 
hundreds  I  have  married,  are  truly  married,  and  that  if  the 
truth  were  known  to  them,  the  confusion  would  be  beyond  my 
power  to  imagine.  But  Christians  they  are,  for  a  layman  may 
baptize,  even  though  he  be  not  in  a  state  of  grace. 

"And  for  the  other  sacraments,  the  sin  is  all  mine,  as  you 
see,  and  God  will  be  good  to  them  all,  according  to  the  inten 
tion  and  belief  they  had.  And  now  a  worse  thing  has  happened, 
though  it  was  not  my  fault,  excepting  that  the  original  fault  is 


332  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

all  mine.  For  Don  Gianluca  della  Spina  was  lying  at  the  point 
of  death,  and  there  were  with  him  the  princess  and  Don  Sigis- 
mondo  Taquisara,  the  Baron  of  Guardia,  his  friend.  The 
princess  desired  to  be  married  to  Don  Gianluca,  before  he 
died,  and  sent  for  me  in  great  haste  and  commanded  me  to 
marry  them.  As  I  raised  my  eyes  to  speak,  for  it  was  im 
possible  to  resist  her  will,  the  Taquisara  thought  that  Don 
Gianluca  was  dead  and  took  the  princess's  hand  from  the  dead 
man's,  as  he  thought,  and  as  I  suppose — and  I  gave  them  the 
benediction.  But  when  I  looked  down,  it  was  the  Baron  of 
Guardia  who  appeared  to  have  been  married  to  the  princess, 
for  their  right  hands  were  clasped ;  and  I  cannot  tell  whether, 
if  I  were  a  true  priest,  they  would  have  been  married 
or  not. 

"  But  the  princess  and  Don  Gianluca  believe  that  I  made 
them  husband  and  wife,  though  the  Taquisara  knows  that 
something  was  wrong,  since  he  held  her  hand.  For  Don 
Gianluca  has  recovered,  and  they  are  now  about  to  have  a  civil 
marriage  and  announce  it  to  their  friends. 

"  It  was  the  will  of  God  that  my  own  sin  should  follow  me 
to  the  end,  and  that  it  should  be  the  means  of  freeing  these 
three  persons  from  their  terrible  position.  For  the  Baron  of 
Guardia  believes  that  he  is  married  to  the  princess,  and  she 
believes  that  she  is  Don  Gianluca's  wife.  But  as  yet  no  further 
harm  is  done,  and  the  Taquisara  is  the  bravest  gentleman  and 
the  truest  man  to  his  friend  that  ever  drew  breath.  Therefore 
I  have  made  this  confession.  And  I  will  abide  all  the  conse 
quences.  The  bishop  before  whom  you  will  lay  the  case  will 
know  what  is  to  be  done.  It  will  be  in  his  power,  I  presume, 
to  acquaint  the  princess  with  the  fact  that  she  is  not  married  at 
all,  and  must  be  married  by  a  true  priest ;  and  to  do  so,  with 
out  injuring  the  poor  people  of  Muro  who  have  been  the 
victims  of  my  sin  for  many  years. 

"  That  is  my  confession.  And  now,  if  I  have  not  made  all 
clear  to  you,  I  beg  you  to  ask  me  such  questions  as  you  think 
fit,  for  it  is  not  in  your  power  to  give  me  absolution." 

Don  Teodoro  was  exhausted.  His  face  sank  upon  his  folded 
hands  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  his  shoulders  trembled. 

"  My  poor  friend  !  My  poor  friend  !  "  repeated  Don  Matteo, 
in  a  low  and  wondering  tone.  "No — it  is  quite  clear,"  he 
added.  "  There  is  nothing  which  I  have  not  understood.  But 
I  can  say  nothing,  my  poor  friend !  Pray — pray  for  forgive- 


xxviii  TAQUISARA  333 

ness.  God  will  forgive  you,  for  you  have  done  evil  only  to 
yourself,  and  never  anything  but  good  to  others." 

Don  Teodoro  in  a  hardly  audible  voice  repeated  the  second 
half  of  the  '  Confiteor '  and  remained  on  his  knees  a  little  while 
longer.  Don  Matteo  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  and 
during  several  minutes  there  was  silence.  Then  the  two  old 
men  rose  and  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment. 

"  Courage  ! "  said  Don  Matteo,  and  he  gently  patted  his 
friend's  shoulder. 

He  took  off  his  stole,  folded  it  carefully,  and  wrapped  it  in 
its  clean  white  paper  again,  before  putting  it  away.  But  he 
did  that  by  force  of  habit.  Confessors  hear  strange  things 
sometimes  and  are  not  easily  disconcerted,  but  Don  Teodoro's 
was  the  strangest  tale  that  had  ever  come  to  Don  Matteo's  ears. 
Again  he  came  and  patted  Don  Teodoro's  shoulder  in  a  way  of 
kindly  encouragement. 

Then  he  took  his  three-cornered  hat  and  went  out  without  a 
word.  In  such  a  case  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 

Cardinal  Campodonico  was  at  that  time  the  archbishop  of 
Naples,  and  he  received  Don  Matteo  immediately,  for  the 
priest  was  a  man  of  extraordinarily  brilliant  gifts  and  well 
known  to  the  prelate,  who  liked  him  and  had  caused  him  to  be 
made  a  canon  of  the  cathedral  not  many  years  earlier. 

Don  Matteo,  as  was  right  in  such  a  position,  laid  the  whole 
matter  before  him  as  a  theoretical  case  of  conscience,  without 
names,  and  without  any  useless  details  which  might  by  any 
possibility  give  a  clue  to  his  real  penitent's  identity.  He  stated 
it  all  with  great  clearness  and  force,  but  he  dwelt  much  upon 
the  spotless  life  of  charity  and  good  works  which  the  man  had 
led,  in  spite  of  his  one  chief  sin.  He  knew,  when  Don  Teodoro 
spoke  of  having  spent  his  father's  fortune,  that  almost  every 
penny  of  it  had  gone  to  the  poor  of  Naples  in  one  way  or 
another,  and  he  had  seen  at  a  glance  how  his  poor  friend  had 
in  his  youth  exaggerated  his  boyish  admiration  for  his  step 
mother.  But  Don  Matteo  put  the  main  point  very  clearly 
before  the  cardinal — always  as  a  purely  theoretical  case  of 
conscience,  asking  what  a  confessor's  duty  would  be  in  such  an 
extremely  difficult  situation. 

The  cardinal  listened  attentively,  and  then  was  silent  for 
some  time. 

"  The  first  thing  to  be  done,"  he  said  at  last,  "  would  be  to 
make  a  priest  of  him.  He  is  evidently  a  man  with  a  vocation, 


334  TAQ  U I S  AR  A  CHAP. 

and  the  chain  of  circumstances  which  led  him  into  this  sin  and 
difficulty  is  a  very  strange  one.  I  hardly  know  what  to  say  of 
it — left  alone  with  savages  only  just  converted — well,  he  was 
wrong,  of  course.  But  the  man  you  represent  in  your  theo 
retical  case  is  supposed  to  be  in  all  other  respects  almost  a 
holy  man." 

"  Yes,  a  man  of  holy  life,"  said  Don  Matteo,  earnestly. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  a  man  of  such  disposition  could  have 
been  so  lacking  in  courage  afterwards,"  said  the  cardinal. 

"  But  suppose  that  it  were  exactly  as  I  represent  the  case, 
Eminence,  what  should  the  confessor  do  ?  " 

The  cardinal  looked  into  his  eyes  long  and  gravely. 

"  I  should  think  it  best  to  make  a  priest  of  him  as  soon  as 
possible,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  But  how  ?  No  bishop  could  ordain  him  a  priest  without 
knowing  his  story." 

"  I  would  ordain  him,  if  he  came  to  me.  I  think  I  should 
be  doing  right." 

"  But  then  your  Eminence  would  know  him,  and  the  secret 
of  confession  would  have  been  betrayed." 

"  That  is  true.  Let  him  go  to  another  bishop  and  tell  his  story." 

"Another  bishop  might  not  think  as  your  Eminence  does. 
Besides,  the  question  is  what  the  confessor  is  to  do  under  the 
circumstances." 

The  cardinal  suddenly  rose,  went  to  the  broad  window,  and 
looked  out  thoughtfully.  Don  Matteo  stood  up  respectfully, 
waiting.  It  seemed  to  him  a  long  time  before  the  prelate 
turned,  and  what  he  did  then  surprised  the  priest  very  much, 
for  he  went  to  each  of  the  three  doors  of  the  room  in  succession, 
opened  it,  looked  out,  closed  it  again  and  locked  it.  Then  he 
came  back  to  Don  Matteo. 

"  Are  you,  to  the  best  of  your  belief,  in  a  state  of  grace,  my 
friend  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice.  "  Have  you  no  mortal  sin 
on  your  conscience  !  Reflect  well.  This  is  a  grave  matter." 

"  I  cannot  think  of  any,  Eminence,"  answered  the  good 
priest,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"Very  well.  We  are  alone  here.  The  case  of  conscience 
you  have  laid  before  me  is  a  very  extraordinary  one.  I  do  not 
wish  to  know  whether  it  has  actually  come  before  you  in  con 
fession.  But  if  it  has, — or  if  it  should, — I  should  wish  you  to 
be  in  a  position  to  help  that  poor  man  and  set  his  life  straight, 
by  the  grace  of  God,  without  injuring  him,  and,  above  all? 


xxvni  TAQUISARA  335 

without  injuring  any  of  those  persons  to  whom  he  has  ad 
ministered  the  sacraments.  I  have  known  you  a  long  time, 
Don  Matteo,  and  I  can  trust  you  to  make  no  use  of  any  power 
I  give  you,  before  the  world.  I  have  the  power  and  the  right 
to  consecrate  a  bishop  any  priest  whom  I  think  a  fit  person. 
Kneel  down  here,  say  the  l  Confiteor,'  and  I  will  lay  my  hands 
on  you.  You  could  then  give  the  penitent  absolution  and 
ordain  him  a  priest  privately." 

Don  Matteo  started  in  utmost  surprise,  and  hesitated  an 
instant. 

"  Kneel  down,"  said  the  cardinal.    "  I  take  this  upon  myself." 

The  priest  knelt,  and  the  solemn  words  sounded  low  in  the 
quiet  little  room,  as  the  archbishop  laid  his  hands  upon  Don 
Matteo's  grey  head.  When  the  latter  rose,  he  kissed  the 
cardinal's  ring,  trembling  a  little,  for  it  had  all  been  very 
unexpected.  The  cardinal  embraced  him  in  the  ecclesiastical 
fashion,  and  then,  to  his  further  amazement,  drew  off  his 
episcopal  ring  and  slipped  it  upon  Don  Matteo's  finger,  took 
his  own  bishop's  cross  and  chain  from  his  neck  and  hung  it 
about  Don  Matteo's  neck. 

"  Keep  them  both  in  memory  of  this  morning,"  said  the 
prelate.  "  But  hide  the  chain  and  the  cross  under  your  cassock, 
for  people  need  not  see  that  you  are  a  bishop,  when  you  sit 
among  the  canons  in  church.  You  know  it,  I  know  it,  your 
penitent  must  know  it  if  the  case  is  a  real  one,  and  the  Pope 
shall  know  it — but  no  one  else  living  need  ever  guess  it.  Will 
you  kindly  unlock  the  doors?  Thank  you.  We  will  not 
mention  this  occurrence  again,  if  we  can  help  it.  Good  morn 
ing,  Don  Matteo — good  morning,  my  friend." 

When  Don  Matteo  was  in  the  street  again,  he  stood  still  and 
passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  trying  to  collect  his  thoughts. 
His  bishop's  ring  touched  his  forehead,  and  he  realized  that  it 
was  all  true.  He  had  not  been  half  an  hour  in  the  archbishop's 
palace,  and  when  he  reached  his  own  door,  he  had  not  been 
absent  an  hour  from  the  house. 

He  found  Don  Teodoro  in  the  same  room  and  still  in  the 
same  chair,  into  which  he  had  dropped  exhausted  when  Don 
Matteo  had  gone  out,  his  head  sunk  on  his  breast,  his  hands 
clasped  despairingly  on  his  knees.  As  the  door  opened,  he 
looked  up  with  scared  eyes,  and  rose. 

"Courage!"  exclaimed  Don  Matteo,  patting  his  shoulder  just 
as  he  had  done  before  going  out.  "  I  have  seen  his  Eminence." 


336  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

Don  Teodoro  looked  at  him  in  mute  and  resigned  expectation, 
and  wondered  at  his  cheerful  face.  But  his  friend  made  him 
sit  down  again,  and  told  him  all  that  had  taken  place,  and  then, 
before  Don  Teodoro  could  recover  his  astonishment  and 
emotion,  he  found  himself  kneeling  on  the  floor  and  heard  the 
words  of  absolution  spoken  softly  over  him.  A  moment  later 
he  felt  upon  his  head  the  laying  of  hands  and  heard  those  still 
more  solemn  words  pronounced  over  him,  which  he  had  never 
hoped  to  hear  said  for  himself. 

When  he  rose  to  his  feet  at  last,  he  saw  Don  Matteo  wrapping 
up  the  bishop's  cross  and  chain  and  ring  in  the  same  piece  of 
clean  white  paper  in  which  he  kept  the  old  stole. 

But  Don  Teodoro  went  to  his  little  room,  which  was  ready 
for  him  as  usual,  and  he  was  not  seen  again  on  that  day. 
Several  times  Don  Matteo  went  softly  to  the  door.  Once 
he  heard  the  old  man  sobbing  within  as  though  his  heart  would 
break,  all  alone ;  and  once  again  he  heard  his  voice  saying  Latin 
prayers  in  a  low  tone ;  and  the  third  time  all  was  very  still,  and 
Don  Matteo  knew  that  the  worst  was  past. 

On  the  next  morning  very  early  Don  Teodoro  came  out 
of  his  room.  Neither  of  the  two  spoke  of  what  had  happened, 
but  the  clear  light  was  in  the  old  priest's  eyes  again,  clearer  and 
happier  than  before,  and  little  by  little  the  lines  smoothed  them 
selves  from  his  singular  face  until  there  were  no  more  there  than 
there  had  been  for  years.  All  that  day  they  talked  together  of 
books  and  of  Don  Teodoro's  great  history  of  the  Church.  But 
they  were  both  thoughtful  and  subject  to  moments  of  absence 
of  mind. 

It  was  not  until  the  evening  of  the  third  day  that  Don 
Teodoro  asked  his  friend  a  question. 

"  What  do  you  advise  me  to  say  to  the  princess  ?  "  he  in 
quired,  when  they  were  alone  together. 

"  Tell  her  that  you  have  consulted  an  ecclesiastical  authority 
and  that  there  was  an  irregularity  about  the  marriage  with  Don 
Gianluca  so  that  you  must  solemnly  marry  them  again  before 
they  can  consider  themselves  man  and  wife.  And  tell  the 
Baron  of  Guardia  that  the  same  authority  is  sure  that  he  was 
not  married  to  the  princess,  but  is  a  free  man.  It  is  very 
simple,  and  there  can  be  no  possible  mistake,  now." 

"  Yes,"  said  Don  Teodoro.     "  It  is  very  simple." 

And  so  it  was,  for  Cardinal  Campodonico  deserved  the  re 
putation  he  enjoyed  of  being,  in  ecclesiastical  affairs,  a  man 


xxvni  TAQUISARA  337 

equal  to  the  most  difficult  emergencies,  in  character,  in  keen 
discernment,  and  in  prompt  action. 

But  Don  Teodoro  sighed  softly  when  he  had  spoken,  for  he 
thought  of  Taquisara  and  of  what  that  brave  and  silent  man 
would  suffer  when  he  was  forced  to  stand  by  Gianluca's  side  and 
see  the  rings  exchanged  and  the  hands  joined,  and  hear  the 
words  spoken  which  must  cut  him  off  forever  from  all  hope. 
But  Taquisara,  at  least,  in  his  suffering,  would  have  the  con 
solation  of  having  been  honest  and  true  and  loyal  from  first  to 
last.  He  would  never  have  to  bear  the  consequences  of  having 
been  a  coward  at  a  great  moment.  It  could  not  be  so  very 
hard  for  him,  after  all,  thought  Don  Teodoro. 

And  he  saw  no  reason  for  curtailing  his  stay  in  Naples,  since 
there  was  time  until  the  first  of  January.  On  the  contrary,  he 
grew  glad  of  those  long  days,  in  which  he  could  meditate  on 
the  past  and  think  of  the  future,  and  be  supremely  and  humbly 
thankful  for  the  great  change  that  had  come  into  his  life. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

DON  TEODORO  wrote  a  few  words  to  Taquisara,  embodying 
what  Don  Matteo  had  advised  him  to  say.  He  added  also  that 
matters  had  not  turned  out  as  he  had  expected  and  that  he 
should  return  to  Muro  as  usual  on  the  twentieth  of  the  month. 
The  Sicilian  read  the  letter  twice  and  then  burned  it  carefully. 
He  was  neither  surprised  nor  disappointed  by  its  contents, 
though  he  had  expected  that  there  would  be  much  more 
difficulty  in  undoing  what  had  been  done.  There  was  clearly 
nothing  more  to  be  said,  as  there  was  most  certainly  nothing 
more  to  hope.  Don  Teodoro  had  undoubtedly  consulted 
the  archbishop  of  Naples,  thought  Taquisara,  and  such  a  de 
cision  was  final  and  authoritative. 

He  had  succeeded  in  forcing  himself  into  a  sort  of  mechanical 
regularity  of  life  which  helped  him  through  the  day.  Gianluca 
needed  him  still,  though  less  than  formerly,  and  as  long  as  he 
could  be  of  m>e,  and  could  control  his  face  and  voice,  he  would 
stay  in  Muro.  Since  Veronica  had  fixed  the  first  of  January  as 
a  limit,  he  could  hardly  find  an  excuse  for  going  away  during 
the  last  three  weeks  of  the  time,  when  he  could  still  be  of 
infinite  service  to  his  friend  on  the  journey  to  Naples. 

Y 


338  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

On  the  whole,  he  considered  himself  very  little.  It  was 
easier  to  do  his  utmost,  and  to  invent  more  than  his  utmost 
to  be  done,  than  it  would  be  to  live  an  idle  life  anywhere 
else. 

Again,  as  in  the  early  days,  he  avoided  Veronica  when  he 
could  do  so,  without  attracting  Gianluca's  attention,  and  Vero 
nica  herself  kept  out  of  his  way  as  much  as  she  could.  Without 
words  they  had  a  tacit  understanding  that  they  would  never  be 
left  alone  together,  even  for  an  instant. 

One  day,  by  chance,  going  in  opposite  directions  through 
the  house,  they  opened  opposite  doors  of  the  same  room  and 
faced  each  other  unexpectedly.  For  a  single  instant  both 
paused,  and  then  came  forward  to  pass  each  other.  Veronica 
held  her  head  high  and  looked  straight  before  her,  for  they  had 
met  already  on  that  day,  and  there  was  no  reason  why  she 
should  speak  to  him.  But  Taquisara  could  not  help  looking 
into  her  face,  and  he  saw  how  hard  it  tried  to  be  and  yet  how, 
in  spite  of  herself,  it  softened  almost  before  she  had  passed  him. 
He  turned  and  glanced  at  her  retreating  figure,  and  her  head 
was  bent  low,  and  her  right  hand,  hanging  by  her  side,  opened 
and  shut  twice  convulsively,  in  his  sight. 

He  had  not  dared  to  suggest  to  himself  until  then  that  she 
might  possibly  love  him,  but  in  the  flash  of  that  quick  passing 
he  almost  knew  it.  Then,  before  he  had  closed  the  door 
behind  him  and  entered  the  next  room,  the  knowledge  was 
gone,  and  he  cursed  himself  for  the  thought,  as  though  it  had 
been  an  insult  to  her.  If  he  should  have  to  pass  her  alone 
again,  he  would  rather  cut  off  his  right  hand  than  turn  and  look 
at  her.  But  that  one  moment,  past  and  gone,  had  life  in  it  to 
torment  him  night  and  day. 

Gianluca  was  no  better,  and  no  worse.  He  wheeled  himself 
about  the  great  rooms,  and  on  fine  mornings  Veronica  took 
him  to  drive.  She  read  to  him,  played  besique  with  him, 
fenced  with  Taquisara  to  amuse  him :  she  devoted  herself  to 
him  in  every  way ;  but  as  day  followed  day,  she  invented  all 
sorts  of  occupations  and  games  which  should  take  the  place  of 
conversation.  Anything  was  better  than  talking  with  him,  now ; 
anything  was  better  than  to  hear  him  say  that  he  loved  her, 
expecting  her  to  pronounce  the  words. 

He  himself  lost  heart  suddenly. 

"  I  shall  never  walk  again,"  he  said,  one  afternoon,  as  they 
sat  together  in  the  big  room. 


xxix  TAQUISARA  339 

The  days  were  very  short,  for  it  was  mid-December,  and  the 
lamps  had  been  brought.  They  had  been  out  in  the  carriage, 
and  when  Taquisara  had  lifted  him  from  his  seat,  he  had  made 
a  desperate  attempt  to  move  his  legs,  a  sudden  effort  into  which 
he  had  thrown  all  the  concentrated  hope  and  will  that  were 
still  in  him.  But  there  had  been  neither  motion  nor  sensation, 
and  all  at  once  he  had  felt  that  it  was  all  over,  forever. 

Veronica  looked  at  him  quickly,  and  he  was  watching  her 
face.  He  saw  no  contradiction  there  of  what  he  had  said,  but 
only  a  little  surprise  that  he  should  have  said  it. 

"  You  may  not  be  able  to  walk  as  soon  as  we  thought,"  she 
answered,  gently.  "But  that  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
never  walk  at  all." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is,"  he  said. 

She  stroked  his  hand,  as  she  often  did,  and  her  eyes  wandered 
from  his  face  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  and  back  again. 

"I  have  been  trying  very  hard  to  get  well,"  he  continued, 
presently.  "  Harder  than  any  one  knows." 

"  I  know,"  Veronica  answered.     "  You  are  so  brave  ! " 

"Brave?  No.  I  am  desperate.  Do  you  think  I  do  not 
know  what  it  must  be  to  you,  to  be  tied  to  a  hopeless  cripple  like 
me?" 

"  Tied  ?  I  ?  "  She  spoke  bravely,  for  it  would  have  been  a 
deadly  cruelty  not  to  contradict  him.  "  It  is  for  you,"  she  went 
on.  "  You  must  not  think  of  me  as  tied  to  you,  dear,  as  you 
call  it !  I  did  it  gladly,  of  my  own  free  will,  and  I  knew  what 
I  was  doing." 

"  Ah  no  ! "  he  answered,  sadly.  "  You  could  not  have  known 
what  you  were  doing,  then.  Your  whole  life  has  only  saved 
half  of  mine." 

A  chill  of  fear  shot  through  Veronica's  heart. 

"  Dear,"  she  said,  anxiously  and  nervously.  "  Have  I  done 
anything  to  make  you  talk  like  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,  love,  you  have  done  much,"  he  answered,  with  a  tender, 
regretful  look.  "  No — do  not  start !  I  am  sorry  that  you  did 
not  understand.  It  is  because  you  do  so  much,  because  you 
give  your  whole  life  for  my  wretched  existence,  because  I  know 
what  my  hours  of  happiness  cost  you  now  and  will  cost  you 
hereafter.  That  is  why  I  say  these  things.  It  would  have  been 
so  much  easier  and  simpler  if  I  had  died  with  my  hand  in  yours, 
that  day,  when  Don  Teodoro  married  us.  Veronica — tell  me — 
did  he  say  all  the  words  ?  I  fainted,  I  think." 


340  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"Yea,"  answered  Veronica,  still  pale.  "He  said  all  the 
words." 

"  And  did  he  give  us  the  benediction  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  gave  us  the  benediction." 

Gianluca  sighed. 

"Then  it  cannot  be  undone,  dear,"  he  said,  softly.  "You 
must  forgive  me." 

"  I  would  not  have  it  undone,  Gianluca." 

And  before  that  great  unselfishness,  Veronica  bowed  her 
head  down,  until  her  lips  kissed  his  hands.  But  as  she  touched 
them,  she  heard  the  door  open,  and  instantly  she  was  erect 
again,  and  trying  to  smile.  Taquisara  came  in. 

Veronica  rose,  for  she  felt  that  she  could  not  sit  still  by 
Gianluca's  side,  with  his  words  in  her  ear,  her  own  scarcely  cold 
upon  her  lips,  and  the  man  for  whom  she  would  have  given  her 
soul's  salvation,  who  would  have  died  ten  deaths  for  her,  stand 
ing  quietly  there,  looking  on.  She  walked  nervously  up  and 
down  the  room. 

"  Should  you  like  to  fence  ?  "  asked  Taquisara.  "  We  have 
not  touched  a  foil  to-day." 

Anything  seemed  good  which  could  pass  the  time  without 
talking.  But  to  her  it  seemed  heartless  just  then. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  almost  curtly.  "  It  seems  to  me  that 
we  are  always  fencing." 

But  Gianluca  understood  why  she  refused.  And  to  him, 
perhaps,  anything  was  better  than  thinking. 

"  Please  do  ! "  he  said.     "  I  enjoy  it  so  much  ! " 

Mechanically  and  without  a  word,  she  went  to  the  corner 
where  the  foils  and  other  things  were  kept  in  a  great  carved 
chest. 

Taquisara  moved  a  large  table  out  of  the  way,  pushing  it 
slowly  before  him. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  see?  Or  shall  we  have  more  lamps?" 
asked  Veronica. 

"  I  can  see  very  well — as  well  as  one  can,  by  lamp-light," 
answered  Taquisara,  as  he  placed  the  lamps  together  upon  the 
table,  so  that  the  light  should  fall  sideways  upon  them  when 
they  fenced. 

Veronica  was  glad  to  slip  her  mask  over  her  face,  just  then. 
She  was  conscious  of  the  fact  when  she  had  done  it,  though  she 
hardly  knew  what  she  was  doing  as  she  took  a  foil  from  the 
long  chest  and  stepped  out  into  the  room  to  meet  Taquisara. 


xxix  TAQUISARA  341 

Then,  as  he  raised  his  arm  to  engage  and  she  still  held  her 
foil  down,  her  habitual  interest  in  the  amusement  momentarily 
asserted  itself. 

"Shall  we  try  that  feint  of  yours  that  you  were  doing  the  other 
day?"  she  asked.  "You  know,  you  touched  me  with  it.  I 
think  I  can  meet  it  now,  for  I  have  been  thinking  about  it." 

"Yes,  try  it!"  said  Gianluca,  from  his  chair. 

"Certainly,"  answered  Taquisara. 

Instantly,  both  fell  into  position  and  engaged.  Barely  cross 
ing  foils,  Taquisara  executed  the  feint  in  question  at  once,  and 
lunged  his  fullest  length.  But  Veronica  had  thought  out  the 
right  parry  and  answer,  and  was  quicker  than  he. 

His  weapon  ran  past  her  head  without  touching  her,  and  as 
he  recovered  himself,  hers  shot  out  after  him.  He  uttered  an 
exclamation  as  it  ran  under  his  arm,  with  a  little  soft  resist 
ance. 

"  Touched  ! "  cried  Veronica,  at  the  same  instant. 

He  said  nothing.  Then,  a  second  later,  she  uttered  a  sharp 
cry  of  horror,  dropped  her  foil  upon  the  floor  and  raising  her 
mask  stared  at  him  with  wild,  white  face.  Not  heeding  what 
she  did,  she  had  taken  the  sharp  foil  by  mistake.  It  was  dark 
in  the  corner  where  the  chest  stood. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  he  said.     "  It  is  nothing,  I  assure  you." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Gianluca,  in  astonishment,  for 
he  could  not  see  that  the  foil  had  no  button. 

But  Veronica  did  not  answer  him.  She  was  close  to  Taqui 
sara  now,  clutching  his  arm  with  both  hands  and  staring  at  the 
wire  mask  which  covered  his  face. 

"  You  are  hurt !  I  know  you  are  hurt ! "  she  said,  in  a  voice 
faint  with  fear. 

"  Oh  no  ! "  he  answered,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  I  was  a  little 
surprised.  Take  another  foil.  It  is  nothing,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  know  you  are  hurt,"  she  repeated.  "  Oh  God  !  I  might 
have  killed  you — " 

She  felt  dizzy,  and  sick  with  horror,  and  she  clung  to  his  arm, 
now,  for  support. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  had  the  sharp  foil  ?  "  asked 
Gianluca,  beginning  to  understand. 

"  It  is  nothing  at  all,"  said  Taquisara.  "  It  ran  through  my 
jacket,  just  under  the  arm.  It  did  not  touch  me." 

"It  might  have  run  through  you,"  said  Gianluca,  gravely. 
"  It  might  have  killed  you." 


342  TAQUISARA  CHA!>. 

"Oh — please — please — "  cried  Veronica,  still  clinging  to 
Taquisara's  arm  and  turning  her  pale  face  to  Gianluca. 

He  looked  on,  and  his  face  changed.  There  was  something 
in  her  attitude,  just  for  a  few  seconds,  in  her  ghastly  pallor,  in 
the  tones  of  her  voice,  that  went  through  Gianluca  like  a  knife. 
The  dreadful  instinctive  certainty  that  she  loved  the  man  she 
had  so  nearly  killed,  took  possession  of  him  in  a  dark  prevision 
of  terror.  Veronica  was  strong  and  brave,  but  it  would  have 
been  strange  indeed  if  she  had  shown  nothing  of  what  she  felt. 

It  did  not  last  long,  and  perhaps  she  knew  what  she  had 
shown,  for  she  dropped  Taquisara's  arm,  and  the  colour  rushed 
to  her  face  as  she  stooped  and  picked  up  the  foil  with  the 
green  hilt.  The  hilts  of  the  others  were  blue,  like  those  of 
many  Neapolitan  foils,  and  in  the  lamplight  she  could  hardly 
distinguish  the  difference. 

With  sudden  anger  Veronica  set  her  foot  upon  the  steel  and 
bent  it  up,  trying  to  break  it.  She  could  not,  for  it  was  of  soft 
temper,  but  she  bent  it  out  of  all  shape,  so  as  to  be  useless. 

She  forced  herself  to  take  another,  and  they  fenced  again  for 
a  few  minutes.  Gianluca  watched  them  at  first,  but  soon  his 
head  fell  back,  and  he  stared  at  the  ceiling.  Death  had  entered 
into  his  soul.  He  had  guessed  half  the  truth.  But  in  the  state 
in  which  he  was  on  that  evening,  and  after  what  had  passed 
between  him  and  Veronica,  the  suspicion  alone  would  have 
been  enough.  Nothing  could  have  saved  him  from  it,  since  it 
was  indeed  the  truth.  Such  passionate,  strong  love  could  only 
hide  itself  so  long  as  it  lived  in  the  even,  unchanging  light  of 
monotonous  days.  In  the  flash  of  a  danger,  a  terror,  a  violent 
chance,  its  shape  stood  out  for  an  instant  and  was  not  to  be 
mistaken. 

Gianluca  scarcely  spoke  again  on  that  evening.  The  next 
morning,  before  he  left  his  own  room,  Taquisara  was  with  him, 
walking  up  and  down  and  smoking  while  Gianluca  drank  his 
coffee.  They  had  been  discussing  the  accident  of  the  previous 
evening,  and  Taquisara  had  laughed  over  it.  But  Gianluca  was 
sad  and  grave. 

"  I  wish  to  ask  you  a  question,"  he  said,  after  a  short  silence. 
"  When  I  fainted,  that  day — did  Don  Teodoro  pronounce  all 
the  proper  words  ?  You  must  have  heard  him.  Was  it  a  real 
marriage,  without  any  defect  of  form  ?  " 

Taquisara  stopped  in  his  walk  and  hesitated.  After  all,  since 
Don  Teodoro  had  written  to  him  that  the  marriage  must  be 


XXIX  TAQUISARA  343 

performed  again,  it  was  much  better  that  Gianluca  should  be 
prepared  for  it,  since  he  himself  had  put  the  question. 

"  Since  you  ask  me,"  answered  Taquisara,  after  a  moment's 
thought,  "  I  may  as  well  tell  you  what  I  know.  After  it  was 
done,  both  Don  Teodoro  and  I  had  doubts  as  to  whether  the 
marriage  were  perfectly  valid,  and  he  determined  to  consult  a 
bishop.  I  suppose  that  he  has  done  so,  for  he  has  written  to 
me  about  it.  He  says  that  the  ecclesiastical  authority  before 
whom  the  matter  was  laid  declares  that  there  were  informalities, 
and  that  you  must  be  married  again.  You  see,  in  the  first 
place,  there  were  no  banns  published  in  church,  and  there  was 
no  permission  from  the  bishop  to  omit  publishing  them.  But, 
of  course,  that  might  be  set  aside.  I  fancy  that  the  real  trouble 
may  have  been  that  you  were  unconscious.  At  all  events,  it  is 
a  very  simple  matter  to  be  married  again." 

"  In  other  words,  it  is  no  marriage  at  all.  I  thought  so — I 
thought  so."  Gianluca  repeated  the  words  slowly  and  sadly. 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  asked  Taquisara,  turning  away  and 
walking  again.  "It  is  a  question  of  five  minutes.  I  should 
think  that  you  would  be  glad — " 

"Yes — perhaps  I  am  glad,"  said  Gianluca,  so  low  that  the 
words  were  scarcely  an  interruption. 

"  Because  you  can  be  married  in  your  full  senses,"  continued 
Taquisara,  bravely,  "  with  your  father  and  mother  beside  you, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

Gianluca  said  nothing  to  this,  and  again  there  was  a  short 
silence.  Just  as  Taquisara  came  to  the  table  in  his  walk, 
Gianluca  spoke  again. 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  he  said.  "  Look  at  me,  Taquisara.  If 
you  were  in  my  place,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

Their  eyes  met,  and  Gianluca  saw  the  quick  effort  of  the 
other's  features,  controlling  themselves,  as  though  he  had  been 
struck  unawares. 

"  I  ? "  exclaimed  Taquisara,  taken  entirely  off  his  guard. 
"  If  I  were  in  your  place  ?  Why — "  he  recovered  himself — "  I 
should  get  married  again,  as  soon  as  possible,  of  course.  What 
else  should  any  one  do  ?  " 

But  the  bold  eyes  for  once  looked  down  a  little,  their  steadi 
ness  broken. 

"  You  would  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Gianluca. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Again  Taquisara  started  almost  im 
perceptibly,  and  his  brows  contracted  as  he  looked  up  sharply. 


344  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

"If  you  were  in  my  place,"  said  Gianluca,  "you  would  cut 
your  throat  rather  than  ruin  the  life  of  the  woman  you  loved, 
by  tying  your  misery  to  her  for  life,  a  load  for  her  to  carry." 

"  Do  not  say  such  things  ! "  exclaimed  the  Sicilian,  turning 
suddenly  from  the  table,  and  resuming  his  walk.  "You  are 
mad ! " 

"No — not  mad.  But  not  cowardly  either.  There  is  not 
much  left  of  me,  but  what  there  is  shall  not  be  afraid.  I  am 
not  truly  married  to  her.  I  will  not  be.  I  will  not  die  with 
that  on  my  soul." 

"  Gianluca — for  God's  sake  do  not  say  such  things  ! "  Taqui- 
sara  turned  upon  him,  staring. 

He  sat  in  his  deep  chair,  his  fair  angel  head  thrown  back,  the 
dark  blue  eyes  bright,  brave,  and  daring — all  the  rest,  dead. 

"I  say  them,  and  I  mean  them,"  he  answered.  " I  love  her 
very  much.  I  love  her  enough  for  that.  I  love  her  more  than 
you  do." 

"Than  I?"  Taquisara's  voice  almost  broke,  as  the  blow 
struck  him,  but  there  was  no  fear  in  his  eyes  either.  He  drew 
a  breath  then,  and  spoke  strong  words.  "Now  may  Christ 
forget  me  in  the  hour  of  death,  if  I  have  not  been  true  to  you ! " 

"  And  me  and  mine  if  I  blast  your  life  and  hers,"  came  back 
the  unflinching  answer. 

A  deep  silence  fell  upon  them  both.  At  last  Gianluca  spoke 
again,  and  his  voice  sank  to  another  tone. 

"  She  loves  you,  too,"  he  said. 

"Loves  me?"  cried  Taquisara,  his  brows  suddenly  close 
bent.  "  Oh  no  !  Unsay  that,  or — no — Gianluca — how  dare 
you  even  dream  the  right  to  say  that  of  your  wife  ?  " 

It  was  beyond  his  strength  to  bear. 

"  She  is  not  my  wife,"  said  Gianluca.  "  You  have  told  me 
so — she  is  not  my  wife.  She  has  done  what  no  other  living 
woman  could  have  done,  to  be  my  wife  and  to  love  me.  But 
she  is  not  my  wife,  and  what  I  say  is  true,  and  right  as  well, 
your  right  and  hers. 

"  No — not  that — not  hers."  Taquisara  turned  half  round, 
against  the  table,  where  he  stood,  and  his  voice  was  low  and 
broken. 

"  Yes,  hers.  You  will  know  it  soon — when  I  have  taken  my 
love  to  my  grave,  and  left  her  yours  on  earth." 

"  Gianluca ! " 

Taquisara  could  not  speak,  beyond  that,  but  he  laid  his  hand 


xxix  TAQUISARA  345 

upon  his  friend's  arm  and  clutched  it,  as  though  to  hold  him 
back.  His  dark  eyes  darkened,  and  in  them  were  the  terrible 
tears  that  strong  men  shed  once  in  life,  and  sometimes  once 
again,  but  very  seldom  more. 

Gianluca's  thin  ringers  folded  upon  the  hand  that  held  him. 

"  You  have  been  very  true  to  me,"  he  said.  "  She  will  be 
quite  safe  with  you." 

For  a  long  time  they  were  both  silent.  It  began  to  rain,  and 
the  big  drops  beat  against  the  windows,  melancholy  as  the 
muffled  drum  of  a  funeral  march,  and  the  grey  morning  light 
grew  still  more  dim. 

"  I  will  not  go  into  the  other  room  just  yet,"  said  Gianluca, 
quietly.  "  I  would  rather  be  alone  for  a  little  while." 

Their  eyes  met  once  more,  and  Taquisara  went  away  without 
a  word. 

That  had  been  almost  the  last  act  of  the  strange  tragedy  of 
love  and  death  which  had  been  lived  out  in  slow  scenes  during 
those  many  weeks.  It  was  needful  that  it  should  come,  and 
inevitable,  soon  or  late.  It  began  when  Gianluca  made  that 
one  last  desperate  effort  to  move,  in  sudden  certainty  of  hope 
that  ended  in  the  instant  foreknowledge  of  what  was  to  be.  A 
little  thing  swayed  him  then — such  a  little  thing  as  the  accident 
of  a  sharp  foil,  a  rent  in  a  jacket,  the  woman's  blinding  fear  for 
the  man  she  loved.  There  are  many  arrows  in  fate's  quiver, 
and  the  little  ones  are  as  keen  as  the  long  shafts,  and  quicker  to 
find  the  tender  mark. 

The  man  was  born  to  suffer,  but  he  had  in  him  that  something 
divine  by  which  martyrs  made  death  the  witness  of  life  and 
turned  despair  of  earth  to  sure  hope  of  heaven. 

He  had  ever  been  a  man  tender  and  gentle.  His  nature  did 
not  fail  him  now.  With  exquisite  devotion  and  thought  for 
Veronica's  happiness,  and  with  a  love  for  her  that  penetrated 
the  short  future  of  near  death,  he  would  not  say  to  her  what  he 
had  said  to  Taquisara.  He  would  not  let  one  breath  of  doubt 
disturb  her  only  satisfaction  while  he  still  lived,  nor  trouble  her 
with  the  least  fear  lest  she  had  not  done  all  her  fullest  to  give 
him  happiness  while  she  could.  In  the  end,  it  was  his  love 
that  cut  short  his  living,  and  no  one  knew  what  hours  and  days 
and  nights  of  pain  he  bore,  till  the  end  came.  He  made  of  his 
love  and  his  death  a  way  for  her  life.  She  had  given  him  all 
she  had.  He  gave  it  back  to  her  a  hundred-fold,  but  she  should 
not  know,  while  he  lived,  that  her  great  gift  had  not  been  to 


346  TAQUISARA  CHAP. 

him  more  than  she  could  make  it,  all  that  she  wished  it  might 
be,  all  that  she  knew  it  was  not. 

He  had  not  far  to  carry  his  burden ;  but  except  his  friend,  no 
one  should  know  the  heaviness  of  his  heart,  neither  his  father 
nor  his  mother,  and  least  of  all,  Veronica.  He  could  not  hide 
that  he  was  dying,  but  he  could  hide  the  cost  of  it,  and  its 
bitterness.  After  that  day,  his  life  went  from  him,  as  the 
strength  falls  away  from  a  ship's  sails  when  the  breeze  is  softly 
dying  on  a  summer's  evening.  In  fear  Veronica  watched  him, 
and  in  fear  she  met  Taquisara's  eyes.  In  the  long  nights,  when 
it  rained  and  there  was  no  moon,  the  darkness  of  death's  wings 
was  in  the  air,  and  she  held  her  breath,  alone  in  her  dim  room. 

They  all  knew  it,  and  none  said  it,  though  shadow  answered 
shadow  in  one  another's  faces  when  they  met.  It  was  as  though 
another  element  than  air  had  descended  amongst  them,  dull, 
unresonant,  hushing  word  and  tread. 

For  each  life  we  love  is  a  sun,  in  our  lives  that  would  be  dark 
if  there  were  no  love  in  them,  and  when  it  goes  down  to  its 
setting  in  our  hearts,  the  last  light  of  love's  day  is  very  deep  and 
tender,  as  no  other  is  after  it,  and  the  passionate,  sad  twilight 
of  regret  deepens  to  a  darkness  of  great  loneliness  over  all,  until 
our  tears  are  wept,  and  our  souls  take  of  our  mortal  selves 
memories  of  love  undying. 

The  end  came  soon,  in  the  night,  for  it  was  his  will  to  live 
that  had  kept  him  with  them  so  long.  Taquisara  was  with  him. 
One  by  one  the  others  came,  hastily  muffled  and  wrapped  in 
dark  robes,  for  the  night  was  cold  and  damp  even  within  doors. 
One  after  another  they  came,  and  they  stood  and  knelt  beside 
him  on  the  right  and  left.  He  spoke  to  them  all, — to  his  father 
and  his  mother  first,  for  he  felt  the  tide  ebbing.  With  streaming 
eyes  Veronica  bent  down  and  looked  for  the  fading  light  in  his, 
through  her  fast-falling  tears.  And  close  to  her  his  mother 
stretched  out  weak  hands  that  trembled  with  every  breaking 
sob.  His  father  knelt  there,  burying  his  face  against  the  pillow, 
shaking  all  over,  his  arms  hanging  down  loose  and  helpless  by 
his  sides,  bent,  bowed,  crushed,  as  a  weak  old  lion,  stricken 
in  age  and  cruelly  wounded  to  death.  And  above  them  all, 
Taquisara's  sad,  deep-chiselled  face  looked  down,  as  the  face 
of  a  bronze  statue  beside  a  grave.  Without,  the  winter's  rain 
beat  a  low  dead-march  on  the  great  windows,  and  the  south 
west  wind  sighed  out  its  vast  breath  along  the  castle  walls. 

It  was  long  since  he  had  spoken,  and  they  thought  that  they 


xxix  TAQUISARA  347 

should  never  hear  his  voice  again.  But  still  the  last  light 
lingered  in  his  eyes.  Very  little  was  left  for  him  to  do. 

He  moved  Veronica's  right  hand,  that  was  in  his,  drawing  it 
a  little,  and  she  let  it  move;  and  his  other  held  Taquisara's, 
and  he  drew  it  also,  they  yielding,  till  the  two  touched,  and  at 
his  dying  will  clasped  one  another.  Then  he  smiled  faintly,  his 
last  smile  on  earth.  And  as  it  faded  forever,  there  came  back 
to  them  from  beyond  all  pain  the  words  of  his  blessing  upon 
their  two  strong  young  lives. 

"  Benedicat  vos  omnipotens  Deus — "  and  the  angels  heard 
the  rest. 

Thus  died  Gianluca  della  Spina. 


THE  END. 


GLASGOW.    PRINTED  AT   THE  UNIVERSITY   PRESS   BY  ROBERT    MACLEHOSE   AND  CO. 


MACMILLAN'S 

Three-and- 
Sixpenny 
Library 

OF  WORKS   BY 

POPULAR   AUTHORS 
In  crown  8vo,  cloth  extra. 


MR.  t.  MARION  CRAWFORD. 


The  following    Works  will  shortly  be  added  to  the  Series : — 

By  EGERTON  CASTLE. 

"  Young  April  "  The   Bath  Comedy 

Marshfield  the  Observer  and  The  Dance  of  Death 

By  ROLF  BOLDREWOOD. 

A  Romance  of  Canvas  Town 

War  to  the  Knife         Babes  in  the  Bush 

By  CHARLOTTE  M.  YONGE. 

Modern  Broods ;    or,  Developments  Unlocked  for 
Strolling  Players.     By  C.  M.  YONGE  &  C.  R.  COLERIDGE 

A  complete  List  of  the  Series  will  be  found  on  the  following  pages 
MACMILLAN   &   CO,,  LIMITED,  LONDON. 


Macmillan's  Three-and-Sixpenny  Library 


MR.  EGERTON  CASTLE. 


A  Sidney-Side  Saxon. 

Nevermore. 

A  Modern  Buccaneer. 

The  Sealskin  Coat. 


ANONYMOUS. 

Hogan,  M.P. 

Tim. 

The  New  Antigone. 

Flitters.  Tatters,  and  the   Coun 
sellor. 


By 

ROLF  BOLDREWOOD. 

Robbery  under  Arms. 
The  Squatter's  Dream. 
A  Colonial  Reformer. 
The  Miner's  Right. 


Old  Melbourne  {Memories. 
My  Run  Home. 
The  Crooked  Stick. 
Plain  Living. 


By  ROSA   N.  CAREY. 


Nellie's  Memories. 

Wee  Wifie. 

Barbara  Heathcote's  Trial. 

Robert  Ord's  Atonement. 

Wooed  and  Married. 

Heiiot's  Choice. 

Queenle's  Whim. 

Mary  St.  John. 

Not  Like  Other  Girls. 

For  Lilias. 


Uncle  Max. 
Only  the  Governess. 
Lover  or  Friend? 
Basil  Lyndhurst. 
Sir  Godfrey's  Grand-daughters. 
The  Old  Old  Story. 
Mistress  of  Brae  Farm. 
Mrs.  Romney,  and  But  Men  Must 
Work. 


By  EGERTON  CASTLE. 


The  Pride  of  Jennico. 

Consequences. 


The  Light  of  Scarthey. 
La  Bella,  and  others. 


MACMILLAN   &  CO.,  LIMITED,  LONDON. 


SALE    NEARLY   THREE    MILLION   COPIES 

Mrs.   Henry  Wood's   Novels 


11- 


each 

"Mrs.  Henry  Wood 
has  an  art  of  novel- 
writing  which  no 
rival  possesses  in 
the  same  degree." 
The  Spectator. 


In 

Red  Cloth 
gilt 

2/6 

each 

"The  fame  of 
Mrs.  Henry  Wood 
widens  and  streng 
thens." 

Morning  fast. 


MRS.  HENRY  WOOD. 


Complete  in  Thirty-Seven  Volumes 


EAST  LYNNE        

THE  CHANNINGS  

MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES 
THE  SHADOW  OF  ASHLYDYAT 
LORD  OAKBURN'S  DAUGHTERS       . 

VERNER'S   PRIDE  

ROLAND  YORKE 

JOHNNY  LUDLOW.     First  Series 

MILDRED  ARKELL         

ST.  MARTIN'S  EVE         

TREVLYN  HOLD  

GEORGE  CANTERBURY'S  WILL 

THE  RED  COURT  FARM  

WITHIN  THE  MAZE 

ELSTER'S  FOLLY  

LADY  ADELAIDE  

OSWALD  CRAY 

JOHNNY  LUDLOW.     Second  Series 
ANNE  HEREFORD 


545th  Thousand, 
zooth  Thousand. 
i6oth  Thousand, 
noth  Thousand 
I25th  Thousand. 

95th  Thousand. 
iSoth  Thousand. 

55th  Thousand. 

8sth  Thousand. 

84th  Thousand. 

70th  Thousand. 

Sard  Thousand. 

8sth  Thousand. 
i4oth  Thousand. 

6sth  Thousand. 

6sth  Thousand. 

6sth  Thousand. 

4oth  Thousand. 

6oth  Thousand. 

[Continued  overleaf. 


MACMILLAN   &   CO.,  LIMITED,  LONDON. 


.  Ibenrp  Moofc's  Iftovels— continued. 

DENE  HOLLOW    ...                           ...                           ...  65th  Thousand. 

EDINA           ...  5oth  Thousand. 

A  LIFE'S  SECRET               ...  75th  Thousand. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  HALLIWELL                               ...  3oth  Thousand. 

POMEROY  ABBEY               5^rd  Thousand. 

COURT  NETHERLEIGH 5ist  Thousand. 

THE  MASTER  OF  GREYLANDS                            ...  57th  Thousand. 

THE  STORY  OF  CHARLES  STRANGE               ...  i5th  Thousand. 

ASHLEY         2oth  Thousand. 

BESSY  RANE            ...  soth  Thousand. 

JOHNNY  LUDLOW.     Third  Series               23rd  Thousand. 

ORVILLE  COLLEGE           ...  44th  Thousand. 

LADY  GRACE            ...  26th  Thousand. 

ADAM  GRAINGER               '         ...  i5th  Thousand. 

THE  UNHOLY  WISH        2oth  Thousand. 

JOHNNY  LUDLOW.     Fourth  Series             i5th  Thousand. 

JOHNNY  LUDLOW.     Fifth  Series i5th  Thousand. 

JOHNNY  LUDLOW.     Sixth  Series... 


MACMILLAN'S 

Two-Shilling  Library 

Crown  8vo.    Bound  in  Blue  Cloth 

MRS.  ALEXANDER 

The  Wooing  O't  The  Executor 

Her  Dearest  Foe  The  Freres 

The  Admiral's  Ward  Look  before  you  Leap 

Which  Shall  it  Be? 

RHODA  BROUGHTON 

Cometh  up  as  a  Flower  Dr.  Cupid 

Good-bye,  Sweetheart  Second  Thoughts 

Joan  A  Beginner 

Not  Wisely  but  too  Well  Alas! 

Red  as  a  Rose  is  She  Mrs.  Bligh 

Scylla  or  Charybdis  'Dear  Faustina* 

Belinda  Nancy 

MARY  GHOLMONDELEY 

Diana  Tempest 


Over  338,000  copies  of  these 
Works  have  been  printed. 

THE    NOVELS 


OF 


ROSA 

NOUCHETTE 

CAREY 


1Rew  anfc  Cbeaper 


Crown  8vo,  blue  cloth,  extra  gilt, 
js.  6d.  each. 


Miss  ROSA  NOUCHETTE  CAREY. 


Nellie's  Memories.     32nd  Thousand. 

Wee  Wine.     25th  Thousand. 

Barbara  Heathcote's  Trial.     2oth  Thousand. 

Robert  Ord's  Atonement.     lyth  Thousand. 

Wooed  and  Married.     24th  Thousand. 

Heriot's  Choice.     i8th  Thousand. 

Queenie's  Whim.     i8th  Thousand. 

Mary  St.  John.     i6th  Thousand. 

Not  Like  Other  Girls.     24th  Thousand. 

For  Lilias.     i4th  Thousand. 

Uncle  Max.     2oth  Thousand. 

Only  the  Governess.     23rd  Thousand. 

Lover  or  Friend?     1 5th  Thousand. 

Basil  Lyndhurst.     i5th  Thousand. 

Sir  Godfrey's  Grand-daughters.     i4th  Thousand. 

The  Old,  Old  Story.     i6th  Thousand. 

Mistress  of  Brae  Farm.     i6th  Thousand. 

Mrs.  Romney,  and  But  Men  Must  Work.   loth  Thousand. 

ST.  JAMES'S  GAZETTE.—"  Miss  Rosa  N.  Carey's  novels  have  attained  a  reputation 
that  is  at  this  time  beyond  criticism,  and  the  new  collected  edition  that  is  being  published  by 
Messrs.  Macmillan  &  Co.  is  welcome.  .  .  .  Miss  Carey  is  a  skilful  story-teller." 

DAILY  NEWS. — "  Miss  Carey's  fluent  pen  has  rot  lost  its  power  of  writing  fresh  and 
wholesome  stories." 

LADY'S  PICTORIAL.— "Mi-s  Carey's  stories  are  like  the  good  wine  that  needs  no 

bush She  has  a  very  large  public,  and  it  will  gladly  welcome  a  cheap  edition  of  her 

novels." 

JOHN  BULL. — "  Miss  Rosa  Nouchette  Carey  is  one  of  our  especial  favourites  She 
has  a  great  gift  of  describing  pleasant  and  lovable  young  ladies." 

THE  LADY. — "  Miss  Carey's  novels  are  always  welcome  ;  they  are  out  of  the  common 
run,  immaculately  pure,  and  very  high  in  tone." 

MACMILLAN   &   CO.,  LIMITED,  LONDON. 


THE    NOVELS   OF 

Rosa   Nouchette    Carey 

Popular  Edition.     Crown  8\o.    js.  6d.  each. 
[32nd  Thousand.] 

Nellie's  Memories. 

STANDARD.—"  Miss  Carey  has  the  gift  of  writing  naturally'and  simply, 
her  pathos  is  true  and  unforced,  and  her  conversations  are  sprightly  and  sharp. " 

[25th  Thousand.] 

Wee  Wifie. 

LADY. — "Miss  Carey's  novels  are  always  welcome  ;  they  are  out  of  the 
common  run,  immaculately  pure  and  very  high  in  tone. " 

[20th  Thousand.] 

Barbara  Heathcote's  Trial. 

DAILY  TELEGRAPH.— "  A  novel  of  a  sort  which  it  would  be  a  real 
loss  to  miss. " 

[i;th  Thousand.] 

Robert  Orel's  Atonement. 

STANDARD.—"  Robert  Ord's  Atonement  is  a  delightful  book,  very  quiet 
as  to  its  story,  but  very  strong  in  character,  and  instinctive  with  that  delicate 
pathos  which  is  the  salient  point  of  all  the  writings  of  this  author." 

[24th  Thousand.] 

Wooed  and   Married. 

STANDARD. — "There  is  plenty  of  romance  in  the  heroine's  life.  But 
it  would  not  be  fair  to  tell  our  readers  wherein  that  romance  consists  or  how  it 
ends.  Let  them  read  the  book  for  themselves.  We  will  undertake  to  promise 
that  they  will  like  it" 

[i8th  Thousand.] 

Heriot's  Choice. 

MORNING  POST.  —  "  Deserves  to  be  extensively  known  and  read.  .  .  . 
Will  doubtless  find  as  many  admirers  as  readers." 

[i 8th  Thousand.] 

Queenie's  Whim. 

GUARDIAN. — "A  thoroughly  good  and  wholesome  story." 
[24th  Thousand.] 

Not  Like  Other  Girls. 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.  — "Like  all  the  other  stories  we  have  had 
from  the  same  gifted  pen,  this  volume,  Not  Like  Other  Girls,  takes  a  sane  and 

healthy  view  of  life  and  its  concerns It  is  an  excellent  story  to  put  in 

the  hands  of  girls. " 

NEW  YORK  HOME  JOURNAL.— "One  of  the  sweetest,  daintiest, 
and  most  interesting  of  the  season's  publications. " 


Macmillan's  Three-and-Sixpenny  Library 


By  Mrs.  CRAIK. 
(The  Author  of  "JOHN  HALIFAX,  GENTLEMAN.") 


Olive. 

The  Ogilviec. 
Agatha's  Husband. 
Head  of  the  Family. 
Two  Marriages. 
The  Laurel  Bush. 


About  Money,  and  other  Things. 
My  Mother  and  I. 
Miss  Tommy:     A  Mediaeval   Ro 
mance. 

King  Arthur :  not  a  Love  Story. 
Concerning  Men,  and  other  Papers. 


By  F.  MARION  CRA  WFORD. 


Mr.  Isaacs. 

Dr.  Claudius. 

A  Roman  Singer. 

Zoroaster. 

Marzio's  Crucifix. 

A  Tale  of  a  Lonely  Parish. 

Paul  Patoff. 

With  the  Immortals. 

Greifenstein. 

Sant'  Ilario. 

A  Cigarette-Maker's  Romance, 

Khaled. 


The  Three  Fates. 
The  Witch  of  Prague. 
Children  of  the  King. 
Marion  Darche. 
Pietro  Ghisleri. 
Katharine  Lauderdale. 
Don  Orsino. 
The  Ralstons. 
Casa  Braccio. 
Adam  Johnstone's  Son. 
A  Rose  of  Yesterday. 
Taquisara. 


By  Sir  H.  CUNNINGHAM. 
The  Heriots.       |       Wheat  and  Tares.        |       The  Coeruleans. 


By  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


The  Pickwick  Papers. 
Oliver  Twist. 
Nicholas  Nickleby. 
Martin  Chuzzlewit. 
The  Old  Curiosity  Shop. 
Barnaby  Rudge. 
Dombey  and  Son. 
Christmas  Books. 


Sketches  by  Boz. 

David  Copperfield. 

American  Notes  and  Pictures  from 

Italy. 

The  Letters  of  Charles  Dickens. 
Bleak  House. 
Little  Dorrit. 


MACMILLAN   &   CO.,  LIMITED,  LONDON. 


Macmillan's  Three-and-Sixpenny  Library 


'ENGLISH  MEN  OF  LETTERS.' 
Re-issue  in  13  vols. 

Vol.  I.  Chaucer,  Spenser,  Dryden. 

II.  Milton,  Goldsmith,  Cowper. 

III.  Byron,  Shelley,  Keats. 

IV.  Wordsworth,  Southey,  Landor. 
V.  Lamb,  Addison,  Swift. 

VI.  Scott,  Burn,  Coleridge. 

VII.  Hume,  Locke,  Burke. 

VIII.  Defoe,  Sterne,  Hawthorne. 

IX.  Fielding,  Thackeray,  Dickens. 

X.  Gibbon,  Carlyle,  Macaulay. 

XI.  Sidney,  De  Quincey,  Sheridan. 

XII.  Pope,  Johnson,  Gray. 

XIII.  Bacon,  Bunyan,  Bentley. 


Miss  ROSA.  N.  CAREY. 


By  DEAN  FARRAR. 


Seekers  after  God. 

Eternal  Hope. 

The  Fall  of  Man. 

The  Witness  of  History  to  Christ. 

The  Silence  and  Voices  of  God. 


In  the  days  of  thy  Youth. 

Saintly  Workers. 

Ephphatha. 

Mercy  and  Judgment. 

Sermons  and  Addresses. 


By  BRET  HARTE. 

Cressy.  I       A  First  Family  of  Tasajara. 

The  Heritage  of  Dedlow  Marsh. 


By    THOS.   HUGHES. 


Tom  Brown's  School  Days. 
Tom  Brown  at  Oxford. 


The  Scouring  of  the  White  Horse, 
and  the  Ashen  Faggot. 


By   HENRY  JAMES. 

A  London  Life.  I       The  Tragic  Muse. 

The  Aspen  Papers,  etc. 


By  ANNIE 
Castle  Daly. 

A  York  and  a  Lancaster  Eose. 
Oldbury. 


KEARY. 
A  Doubting  Heart. 
Janet's  Home. 
Nations  round  Israel. 


MACMILLAN   &   CO.,  LIMITED,  LONDON. 


Macmillan's  Three-and-Sixpenny  Library 


By  CHARLES  KINGS  LEY. 


Westward  Ho ! 

Hypatia. 

Yeast. 

Alton  Locke. 

Two  Years  Ago. 

Hereward  the  Wake. 

Poems. 

The  Heroes. 

The  Water  Babies. 

Madam  How  and  Lady  Why. 

At  Last. 

Prose  Idylls. 

Plays  and  Puritans,  etc. 

The  Roman  and  the  Teuton. 

Sanitary  and  Social  Lectures  and 

Essays. 

Historical  Lectures  and  Essays. 
Scientific  Lectures  and  Essays. 


Literary  and  General  Lectures. 

The  Hermits. 

Glaucus:  or  the  Wonders  of  The 

Seashore. 
Village   and   Town    and    Country 

Sermons. 
The   Water    of    Life,    and    other 

Sermons. 
Sermons  on  National  Subjects,  and 

the  King  of  the  Earth. 
Sermons  for  the  Times. 
Good  News  of  God. 
The  Gospel  of  the  Pentateuch,  and 

David. 

Discipline,  and  other  Sermons. 
Westminster  Sermons. 
All  Saints'  Day,  and  other  Sermons 


By  FREDERICK  DENIS  ON  MA  URICE. 


Sermons  Preached  in  Lincoln's  Inn 

Chapel,    in  6  vols. 

Christmas  Day,  and  other  Sermons. 
Theological  Essays. 
Prophets  and  Kings. 
Patriarchs  and  Lawgivers. 
The  Gospel  of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven 


Gospel  of  St.  John. 

Epistles  of  St.  John. 

Friendship  of  Books. 

Prayer  Book  and  Lord's  Prayer. 

The  Doctrine  of  Sacrifice. 

Acts  of  the  Apostles. 


Aunt  Rachel. 


By  D.  CHRISTIE  MURRA  Y. 

John  Vale's  Guardian. 


He  Fell  among  Thieves.    D.  C.  MUR 
RAY  and  H.  HERMAN. 


Schwartz. 

The  Weaker  Vessel. 


By  Mrs.  OLIPHANT. 


A  Beleaguered  City.     |     Joyce. 
Neighbours  on  the  Green. 
Kirsteen.     |     Hester.     |     Sir  Tom. 
A    Country    Gentleman    and    his 

Family. 

The  Curate  in  Charge. 
The  Second  Son. 
He  that  WiU  Not  when  He  May. 


The  Railway  Man  and  his  Children 

The  Marriage  of  Elinor. 

The     Heir-Presumptive    and    the 

Heir-Apparent. 
A  Son  of  the  Soil. 
The  Wizard's  Son. 
Young  Musgrave. 
Lady  William. 


MACMILLAN   &   CO.,  LIMITED,  LONDON. 


Macmillan's  Three-and-Sixpenny  Library 


Miss  C.  M.  YONGE. 


By  Mrs.  PARR. 
Adam  and  Eve. 
Loyalty  George. 
Dorothy  Fox. 
Robin. 

By  J.  H.  SHORTHOUSE. 
John  Inglesant, 
Sir  Percival. 

The  Little  Schoolmaster  Mark. 
The  Countess  Eve. 
A  Teacher  of  the  Violin. 
Blanche,  Lady  Falaise. 

By  J.   TIMBS. 
Lives  of  Statesmen. 
Lives  of  Painters. 
Doctors  and  Patients. 
Wits  and  Humourists.    2  vols. 


Leaves  of  a  Life. 
Later  Leaves. 


By  MONTAGU   WILLIAMS. 
I      Round  London. 


By  CHARLOTTE 
The  Heir  of  Redclyffe. 
Heartsease,     i     Hopes  and  Fears. 
Dynevor  Terrace. 
The  Daisy  Chain.  [Chain. 

The  Trial :  More  Links  of  the  Daisy 
Pillars  of  the  House.    Vol.  I. 
Pillars  of  the  House,    Vol.  II. 
The  Young  Stepmother. 
The  Clever  Woman  of  the  Family. 
The  Three  Brides. 
My  Young  Alcides. 
The  Caged  Lion.    |    Stray  Pearls. 
The  Dove  in  the  Eagle's  Nest. 
The  Chaplet  of  Pearls. 
Lady    Hester,    and    the    Danvers 

Papers. 

Magnum  Bonum   |   Love  and  Life. 
Unknown  to  History. 
The  Armourer's  'Prentices. 
The  Two  Sides  of  the  Shield. 


M.    YONGE. 
Scenes  and  Characters. 
Nuttie's  Father,  i  Chantry  House. 
A  Modern  Telemachus. 
Bye-Words.    |     More  Bye-Words. 
Beechcroft  at  Rockstone. 
A  Reputed  Changeling. 
The  Little  Duke. 
The  Lances  of  Lynwood. 
The  Prince  and  the  Page. 
P.'s    and    Q's,    and    Little    Lucy's. 

Wonderful  Globe. 
Two  Penniless  Princesses. 
That  Stick.     |     Grisly  GriselL 
An  Old  Woman's  Outlook. 
The  Long  Vacation.  |  The  Release. 
Pilgrimage  of  the  Ben  Beriah. 
Henrietta's  Wish. 
The  Two  Guardians. 
Countess  Kate,  and  the  Stokesley 
Secret. 


MACMILLAN    &   CO.,  LIMITED,  LONDON. 


[i6th  Thousand.] 

Mary  St.  John. 

JOHN  BULL. — "The  story  is  a  simple  one,  but  told  with  much  grace 
and  unaffected  pathos." 

[i4th  Thousand.] 

For  Lilias. 

VANITY  FAIR. — "  A  simple,  earnest,  and  withal  very  interesting  story; 
well  conceived,  carefully  worked  out,  and  sympathetically  told." 

[20th  Thousand.] 

Uncle  Max. 

LADY. — "So  intrinsically  good  that  the  world  of  novel  readers  ought  to 
be  genuinely  grateful." 

[23rd  Thousand.] 

Only  the  Governess. 

PALL  MALL  GAZJ£TT£.—"This  novel  is  for  those  who  like  stories 
with  something  of  Jane  Austen's  power,  but  with  more  intensity  of  feeling  than 
Jane  Austen  displayed,  who  are  not  inclined  to  call  pathos  twaddle,  and  who 
care  to  see  life  and  human  nature  in  their  most  beautiful  form. " 

[i5th  Thousand.] 

Lover  or  Friend  ? 

GUARDIAN.— "The  refinement  of  style  and  delicacy  of  thought  will 
make  Lover  or  Friend?  popular  with  all  readers  who  are  not  too  deeply  bitten 
with  a  desire  for  things  improbable  in  their  lighter  literature." 

[i 5th  Thousand.] 

Basil  Lyndhurst. 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.— "  We  doubt  whether  anything  has  been 
written  of  late  years  so  fresh,  so  pretty,  so  thoroughly  natural  and  bright.  The 
novel  as  a  whole  is  charming." 

[i4th  Thousand.] 

Sir  Godfrey's  Grand-daughters. 

OBSER  VER.—"  A  capital  story.  The  interest  steadily  grows,  and  by  the 
lime  one  reaches  the  third  volume  the  story  has  become  enthralling." 

[i6th  Thousand.] 

The  Old,  Old  Story. 

DAILY  NEWS.—"W\s*  Carey's  fluent  pen  has  not  lost  its  power  of 
writing  fresh  and  wholesome  fiction." 

[i6th  Thousand.] 

The  Mistress  of  Brae  Farm. 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE. — "Miss  Carey's  untiring  pen  loses  none  of 
its  power,  and  her  latest  work  is  as  gracefully  written,  as  full  of  quiet  home 
charm,  as  fresh  and  wholesome,  so  to  speak,  as  its  many  predecessors." 

[loth  Thousand.] 

Mrs.  Romney,  and  but  Men  Must  Work. 


MISS    CAREY'S    LATEST    NOVEL. 

Crown  8vo,  %ilt  top.     6s. 

[12th  Thousand.] 

Rue  with   a   Difference 

BY 

ROSA    N.    CAREY. 

Rue  with  a  Difference  is  the  story  of  two  women's  love  affairs,  and 
the  long-deferred  happiness  that  came  to  them.  The  scene  is  laid  in 
a  cathedral  town,  and  the  tale  runs  smoothly  in  the  tranquil,  easy 
manner  familiar  to  Miss  Carey's  readers.  The  novelist's  popularity 
may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  a  large  edition  of  the  book  was 
exhausted  by  the  first  demand  before  publication. 

BOOKMAN. — "  Fresh  and  charming  ....  a  piece  of  distinctly  good 
work." 

ATHENMUM.—"  A  pretty  love  story." 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.— "It  is  never  dull  for  an  instant.  .  .  .  The 
book  as  a  whole,  is  a  charming  one,  to  be  read  through  at  great  length  with 
entire  interest." 

PILOT. — "Told  with  all  the  writer's  accustomed  sweetness  and  sim 
plicity." 

SCOTSMAN. — "The  novel  is  characteristic  of  its  author  and  may  well 
serve  to  add  many  to  her  already  wide  circle  of  readers." 

TRUTH. — "Ought  to  maintain  Miss  Carey's  high  reputation." 

LEEDS  MERCURY.—"  &  charming  old-fashioned  love-story,  told  in 
Miss  Carey's  most  delightful  manner." 

BROAD  ARROW. — "We  have  nothing  but  praise  for  this  interesting, 
natural,  and  refined  novel." 

DUNDEE  ADVERTISER.  —  "The  life  of  the  exclusive  cathedral  town 
is  artistically  depicted,  and  the  sweet,  wholesome,  high-toned  atmosphere 
which  Miss  Carey  invariably  creates  pervades  the  entire  story." 

BOOKSELLER. — "An  uncommonly  pretty  story." 

MACMILLAN   &   CO.,  LIMITED,  LONDON. 

25  :  7  :  01. 


/Ifeacmillan's  TTwoSbtlling  3Librat£— continued. 

MRS.  EDWARDES 

Leah :    A  Woman  of  Fashion 

A  Ball  Room  Repentance 
Ought  We  to  Visit  Her  ?  Susan  Fielding 

JESSIE   FOTHERGILL 

Kith  and  Kin  Aldyth 

Probation  Healey 

Borderland  The  Wellfields 

From  Moor  Isles 

OLINE  KEESE 

The  Broad  Arrow 

J.  S.  LE   FANU 

Uncle  Silas  The  House  by  the  Churchyard 

MARY  LINSKILL 
Between  the  Heather  and  the  Northern  Sea 

The  Haven  under  the  Hill 
Cleveden  In  Exchange  for  a  Soul 

MRS.  OLIPHANT 

Kirsteen 

MRS.  RIDDELL 

Berna  Boyle  George  Geith  of  Fen  Court 

Susan  Drummond 

W.  CLARK  RUSSELL 

Marooned 

THE  BARONESS  TAUTPHCEUS 
Quits  !  The  Initials  At  Odds 

MONTAGU  WILLIAMS 

Leaves  of  a  Life 

MARGARET  L.  WOODS 

A  Village  Tragedy 


Illustrated  Standard   Novels 

Crown  8vo.      Cloth.     2s.  6d.  each. 
Or  in  cloth  elegant,  gilt  edges.     Peacock  Edition.     %s.  6d.  each. 

J.  FENIMORE   COOPER 

The  Last  of  the  Mohicans 

The  Deerslayer  The  Prairie 

The  Pathfinder  The  Pioneers 

JANE   AUSTEN 

Pride  and  Prejudice  Emma 

Sense  and  Sensibility  Mansfield  Park 

Northanger  Abbey  and  Persuasion 

MARIA  EDGEWORTH 

Castle  Rackrent  and  the  Absentee 

Ormond  Popular  Tales  Helen  Belinda 

Parent's  Assistant 

CAPTAIN   MARRYAT 

Japhet  in  Search  of  a  Father  Poor  Jack 

Jacob  Faithful  The  Pirate  and  the  Three 

Peter  Simple  Cutters 

Midshipman  Easy  Master-man  Ready 

The  King's  Own  Frank  Mildmay 

The  Phantom  Ship  Newton  Forster 

Snarleyyow 

THOMAS  LOYE  PEACOCK 

Maid  Marian  and  Crotchet  Castle  Headlong  Hall,  etc. 

Gryll  Grange  Melincourt 

Elphin  and  Rhododaphne 

VARIOUS  AUTHORS 

Westward  Ho  !    By  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

Handy  Andy.    By  SAMUEL  LOVER. 

Tom  Cringle's  Log.    By  MICHAEL  SCOTT. 

Annals  of  the  Parish.    By  JOHN  GALT. 

Sybil;  or,  The  Two  Nations,  etc.    By  BENJAMIN  DISRAELI. 

I«avengro.    By  GEORGE  BORROW. 

Adventures  of  Hajji-Baba  of  Ispahan.    By  JAMES  MORIER. 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED,  LONDON. 

as  :  7  :  01 


Macmillan's  Three-and-Sixpenny  Library 

By  VARIOUS   WRITERS. 
CANON  ATKINSON.— The  Last  of  the  Giant  Killers. 
SIR  S.  W.  BAKER.— True  Tales  for  My  Grandsons. 
R.  H.  BARHAM.— The  Ingoldsby  Legends. 

R.  H.  D.  BARHAM.— Life  of  Rev.  R.  H.  Barham.-Life  of  Theodore  Hook. 
R.  BLENNERHASSET  AND  L.  SLEEMAN.— Adventures  in  Mashonaland. 
FRANK  BUCKLAND.— Curiosities  of  Natural  History,    in  4  vols. 
SIR  HENRY  LYTTON  BULWER  (LORD  DALLING).— Historical  Characters. 
HUGH  CONWAY.— Living  or  Dead  ?    A  Family  Affair. 
SIR  MORTIMER  DURAND,  K.C. I.E. -Helen  Treveryan. 
LANOE  FALCONER.-Cecilia  de  Noel. 

ARCHIBALD  FORBES.— Barracks,  Bivouacs,  and  Battles.— Souvenirs  of  Some 
Continents. 

W.  FORBES-MITCHELL.— Reminiscences  of  the  Great  Mutiny,  1857—59. 

W.  W.  FOWLER.-A  Year  with  the  Birds. 

A.  B.  FREEMAN-MITFORD.— Tales  of  Old  Japan. 

W.  P.  FRITH,  R. A.— Autobiography  and  Reminiscences. 

REV.  J.  GILMORE.— Storm  Warriors. 

M.  GUIZOT.— The  Life  of  Oliver  Cromwell. 

RICHARD  JEFFERIES.— The  Dewy  Mom :    A  Novel. 

HENRY  KINGSLEY.— Tales  of  Old  Travel. 

AMY  LEVY.— Reuben  Sachs. 

S.  R.  LYSAGHT.— The  Marplot. 

LORD  LYTTON.— The  Ring  of  Amasis. 

M.  M'LENNAN.— Muckle  Jock,  and  other  Stories  of  Peasant  Life. 

LUCAS  MALET.— Mrs.  Lorimer. 

GUSTAVE  MASSON.— A  French  Dictionary. 

Memories  of  Father  Healy  of  Little  Bray. 

M.  MIGNET.— Mary  Queen  of  Scots. 

MARY  R.  MIT  FORD.— Recollections  of  a  Literary  Life. 

W.  E.  NORRIS.— Thirlby  Hall.       |       A  Bachelor's  Blunder. 

MAJOR  G.  PARRY.— The  Story  of  Dick. 

E.  C.  PRICE. -In  the  Lion's  Mouth. 

W.  C.  RHOADES.— John  Trevennick. 

w.  CLARK  RUSSELL. -Marooned.- A  Strange  Elopement. 

THE  WORKS  OF  SHAKESPEARE.-Vol.  I.  Comedies.    Vol.  II.  Histories.   Vol. 
III.  Tragedies.    3  vols. 

HAWLEY  SMART.— Breezie  Langton. 

MARCHESA  THEODOLL— Under  Pressure. 

"TIMES."— Biographies  of  Eminent  Persons;  In  6  vols.— Annual  Summaries; 

In  2  vols. 

ANTHONY  TROLLOPE.— The  Three  Clerks. 

The  Recollections  of  Marshall  Macdonald,  Duke  of  Tarentum. 

MRS.  HUMPHRY  WARD.— Miss  Bretherton. 

E.  WERNER.— Fickle  Fortune.       I       Success,  and  How  He  Won  It. 

C.  WHITEHEAD.— Richard  Savage. 

MACMILLAN   &   CO.,  LIMITED,  LONDON. 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


Now  Ready.  Crown  8vo,  tastefully  bound 
in  Green  Cloth,  Gilt,  in  which  binding  any 
of  the  Novels  may  be  bought  separately, 
price  3-r.  6d.  each.  Also  in  Special  Cloth 
Binding,  Flat  Backs,  Gilt  Tops,  supplied 
in  Sets  only  of  24  Volumes,  price  £4.  4-r. 

The  Illustrated 
Border  Edition 

OF  THE 

Waverley  Novels 

Edited  with  Introductory  Essays  and 
Notes  to  each  Novel  (supplementing  those 
of  the  Author)  by  ANDREW  LANG.  With 
250  Original  Illustrations  from  Drawings 
and  Paintings  specially  executed  by  eminent 
Artists. 


List  of  the  Volumes. 


1.  Waverley. 

2.  Guy  Mannering. 

3.  The  Antiquary. 

4.  Rob  Roy. 

5.  Old  Mortality. 

6.  The  Heart  of  Midlothian. 

7.  A  Legend  of  Montrose,  and  The 

Black  Dwarf. 

8.  The  Bride  of  Lammermoor. 

9.  Ivanhoe. 

10.  The  Monastery. 

11.  The  Abbot. 

12.  Kenilworth. 

13.  The  Pirate. 


14.  The  Fortunes  of  Nigel. 

15.  Peveril  of  the  Peak. 

16.  Quentin  Durward. 

17.  St.  Ronan's  Well. 

18.  Redgauntlet. 

19.  The  Betrothed,  and  The  Talisman. 

20.  Woodstock. 

21.  The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 

22.  Anne  of  Geierstein. 

23.  Count  Robert  of  Paris,  and  The 

Surgeon's  Daughter. 

24.  Castle   Dangerous,  Chronicles  of 

the  Canongate,  etc. 


Some  of  the  Artists  contributing  to  the  "Border  Edition." 


Sir  J.  E.  Millais,  Bart.,  P.R.A. 
Lockhart  Bogle. 
,  Gordon  Browne.    / 
D.  Y.  Cameron. 
Frank  Dadd,  R.I. 
R.  de  Los  Rios. 
Herbert  Dicksee. 
M,  L.  Gow,  R.I. 
Wi  B.  Hole,  R.S.A. 
John  Pettie,  R.A. 
Sir  James  D.  Linton,  P.R.I. 
Ad.  Lalauze. 
J.  E.  Lauder,  R.S.A. 
W.  Hatherell,  R.I. 
Sam  Bough,  R.S.A. 


W.  E.  Lockhart,  R.S.A. 

R.  W.  Macbeth,  A. R.A. 

H.  Macbeth-Raeburn. 

J.  Macwhirter,  A.R.A.,  R.S.A. 

W.  Q.  Orchardson,  R.A. 

James  Orrock,  R.I. 

Walter  Paget. 

Sir  George  Reid,  P.R.S.A. 

Frank  Short. 

W.   Strang. 

Sir  Henry  Raeburn,  R.A.,  P.R.S.A. 

Arthur  Hopkins,  A.R.W.S. 

R.  Herdman,  R.S.A. 

D.  Herdman. 

Hugh  Cameron,  R.S.A. 


MACMI^AN   &   CO.,  LIMITED,  LONDON. 


25  : 7  :  »x. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


50m-l,'69(J5643s8)2373— 3A,1 


STORED  AT  NRL 


PS1455.T37  1897 


3  2106  00206  6295 


'II 


